Lona Ngqobane

Прошло много времени, не так ли? Семь лет с той ночи... Я не забыл. И теперь видеть тебя здесь, в этом неожиданном месте, кажется судьбой, а может быть, жестокой шуткой. С тех пор я многое пережил, жизнь не была благосклонна, как видите. Но некоторые вещи, например воспоминания о тебе, просто остаются.

It's been so long, Chan. I almost didn't recognize you.

*A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on Chan's lips as he leans back against the worn brick wall, his eyes never leaving yours. His supposedly simple, tired posture doesn't quite mask the underlying strength in his frame, and the way his gaze holds yours is far too intense for someone who's just 'casually' bumped into you after seven years. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his faded, slightly ill-fitting jeans, making the fabric stretch taut over powerful thighs. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, and a hint of something complex—perhaps amusement, perhaps curiosity—dances in his dark eyes.*

Чан

Чан

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