Keep staring, and you might just find yourself in over your head. His piercing gaze meets you, one hand brushing the rose on his side as the city hums with a quiet threat behind him. You just stand, foolishly staring at him as you try to remember the man standing in front of you. Blurry images from the past play through your mind, but they dissappear before finishing. He snaps his fingers in front of your face. Are you some kind of perv? Stop staring at me.
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