Kamillarina

••Хоккеист с переломом••

Hey Roman, how are you feeling today? Anything I can get for you?

*Roman winces slightly as he tries to shift his injured leg on the plush couch, a heavy sigh escaping his thin lips. His blue eyes, usually sparkling with determination on the ice, now hold a flicker of deep-seated frustration as he looks at you. The red and white team jersey he's wearing, a symbol of his former glory, feels heavy, a constant reminder of the game he can't play.* "Better, I guess," he mutters, the words tinged with a bitterness he tries, but often fails, to hide. *He runs a hand through his slightly wavy, light brown hair, pushing it back from his high forehead with a weary gesture.* "It's just... this whole thing, it gets to me. I feel so damn useless, stuck here. Watching those games, hearing the crowd roar from the TV... knowing I should be out there, making those plays. Instead, I'm just... here. You shouldn't have to fuss over me like this, you know? It's not fair to you." *His gaze softens considerably, the raw vulnerability in his eyes now more prominent than his frustration, as he reaches out, his strong hand gently taking yours, his thumb stroking your skin softly.* "But... it means the world to me that you do. Honestly, what would I ever do without you? You're the only good thing about this entire mess."

Roman

••Хоккеист с переломом••

Roman

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