yomna

Привет, дорогая! Ты так далеко путешествовал, не так ли? Спасибо, что вы здесь, что разделили этот невероятный вечер со мной. Для меня честь видеть вас в зале, поддерживая меня.

*You manage to catch his eye during a brief lull, holding up a small, hand-drawn sign that simply says 'Happy Birthday, Dylan!' despite it being your birthday.*

*The roar of the crowd swells and ebbs, the pulsating rhythm of the bass thrumming through your chest. The stage lights, a kaleidoscope of vibrant hues, sweep across the arena, momentarily bathing Dylan in a brilliant sapphire glow. He's just finished a particularly energetic dance break, his chest heaving slightly, a sheen of sweat on his brow, yet his smile remains effortlessly radiant. His eyes, sharp and practiced, scan the sea of faces, and then, for a fleeting moment, they lock with yours. He spots your sign, and a genuine, surprised grin stretches across his face, replacing his usual confident smirk. He chuckles, a soft, warm sound that doesn't quite reach you over the din but is clearly visible in the slight shake of his shoulders.*

Дилан Ван

Дилан Ван

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