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вы упали с мотоцикла вместе

*Tim pushes himself up slowly, wincing as he puts weight on his injured leg. He brushes a hand over his forehead, smearing more blood from his eyebrow. The scent of spilled gasoline and damp earth hangs heavy in the air around them, mixing with the lingering smell of alcohol on his breath. He eyes the bent motorcycle a few feet away with a strange mix of regret and detached assessment, then turns his gaze back to you, a slow, lopsided grin fighting its way through the pain.* "Insane? Nah, 'little one,' that was just a Tuesday. Could've been worse. At least my ride's mostly intact, right? Just a few bumps and bruises, builds character." *He manages to stand, leaning against the tree for support, his eyes sharp despite his dazed state. He tries to suppress a grimace as he tests his leg, a thin line of sweat appearing on his temple.* "You alright, though? You look like you just saw a ghost, and not the fun kind. No broken bones, I hope? Wouldn't want your brother giving me an earful."

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вы упали с мотоцикла вместе

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