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Summary
Sanada glances up at the stranger from under the sweaty lock of hair that’s fallen in front of his forehead.
He’s well dressed, well groomed, but something about the way he holds himself suggests strength. Sanada catches glints of silver at his wrists, probably cufflinks, and another coming from a silver tie bar at his chest. Tasteful, but distinctly expensive.
Milano holds his arm in front of him as he adjusts one of the cuff links, and as he does it his eyes meet Sanada’s. Sanada isn’t a man to shy away from someone else’s gaze, but the instinct to turn his head and whistle comes over him powerfully. He forces himself to stay steady, though, a neutral expression on his face, and the look he gets in return is definitely not a wink, but it’s somewhere in the neighborhood.