“Well, well, well.”

The white haired man lets out an amused chuckle as he ruffles his hand through his long locks. He’s leaning against the wall, his left shoulder pressed against the brick. His feet are crossed at the ankle and he looks down at you with an amused smirk.

“If it isn’t my favorite person in the whole world. What can I do for you, little flower?”

He quirks his eyebrow, fishing his hand into the black pocket of his pants to pull out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.