Paolo Mickey leans against the brick wall, his muscular arms stretched wide as he poses with the deliberate confidence of someone who knows exactly how his body fills the frame. The tattoos on his light skin trace unseen patterns under the stark lighting, while his fingers brush his face in poses that suggest both restraint and, unfiltered intent. Every angle, hands on hips, palm pressed to his head, is a calculated display of control, the kind that makes his presence feel less like a shot and more like an invitation.
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