𝑫𝑴𝑰𝑻𝑹𝒀 𝑽𝑨𝑺𝑰𝑳𝑰𝑬𝑽.

⠀⠀❛ 𝑫𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒄𝒂𝒃𝒓𝒆. ❜ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀detailed. experienced. 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕. multiship and multiverse. original character. ⠀⠀⠀𝘙𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘢𝘯. 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘙𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵.

||: im sad this account isn't getting much action

. . . This sounds like 𝙛𝙪𝙣.

“Could someone help me roll out my muscles?”

Coughs.

He wants that cat.

Sashays his way out to look for attention.

Licks his lips. It's been a night.

Purrs / loudly /.

Curls up.

“Oh, goodness. . I don't you worrying about me. You eating is more important—and whatever you want." Dmitry had the weirdest cravings when ballet season kicked in—which was when he normally had to diet. That was when most dancers wanted fatty foods. “Burgers are good.”

||: i was in a car accident coming home from work tonight so yay me

“No. . I am not very picky.” Dmitry technically had a diet he had to follow for dance season, but the young blonde had his own cheat days—now quietly watching Julian with a close eye. There was something he liked about being nurtured. . It was far too obvious.

That could work. He hasn't eaten all day, finding that dancing or practicing after having eaten was something out of a Nightmare. It rarely ended well. The blonde perked, immediately interested.

“I am. . After eight. Da svidan'ya. .~” The gentle angel boarded the bus and walked over to a window seat, as he looked at Liev through his one barrier. This damn bus. Just for him, he wrote his number through the condensation of the empty window behind him.

— — — . &

A courteous nod was given, and Dmitry heard the bus pull up, expecting to be heading for a nice hotel. These next four days will he filled with mystery. He hesitantly stepped back, last to board, looking over the stranger as he added. “The Hilton. . That's the hotel.”

Casually does his stretches.

“A beautiful city.” He had an extensive amount of knowledge on Russia, as he had been sent everywhere for work. . And his dancing also traveled with that. Every corner was treated with grace by day, and fear by night. “Well, it is nice to meet a fellow Russian.~”

The innocence was a good buffer between what he was really like and anyone interested—the trained assassin was very flexible with his identity. When he wanted to be, the innocent demeanor got him what he wanted most. “No. . Moscow. Most of us are from there,”