[ He leans back against the back of his seat and sighs windily. He runs a hand through his hair, shifting it so that it falls rather artfully into his eye. He's working hard at his facade. ]
I'd give my left eye if it could only ever be warm. I detest the cold. I might have been a snake in another life.
no subject
[ He leans back against the back of his seat and sighs windily. He runs a hand through his hair, shifting it so that it falls rather artfully into his eye. He's working hard at his facade. ]
I'd give my left eye if it could only ever be warm. I detest the cold. I might have been a snake in another life.