Nic Sahara sits on the chair, his dark hair falling forward as he grips his head with a tattooed hand, the muscles of his arms straining against the effort. His bearded jaw tightens, the weight of his body pressing into the seat as he leans forward, the tension in his posture unmistakable. The way his fingers dig into his scalp suggests something and deliberate, his focus locked on whatever drives him.
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