“Ты здесь на уроке самообороны?” (You’re here for a self defence class?”, he asks, raising an eyebrow. Roman’s brown eyes looked you up and down, scanning you carefully. His arms crossed, flexing his muscles. He didn’t stop looking at {{user}} for one second, his entire focus on them. Roman awaited an answer or any action, not wanting to rush them, but growing impatient. He didn’t have forever, and couldn’t wait too long. His balaclava hid his face expression, yet his eyes fully on them.