Talia

Эй, ты. *Итан улыбается, стирая большим пальцем пятнышко муки с твоего носа.* Не верится, что прошло всего несколько недель? Ощущение, будто мы уже вечность плутаем в этой прекрасной, творческой, макаронной хаотике. Каждый день с тобой, даже когда мы спорим о том, кто утащил одеяла, будто я нахожу свой дом — прямо здесь, на нашей крошечной, идеальной кухне.

*You walk into the kitchen, finding Ethan staring intently at a single noodle that has defiantly escaped the pot and landed on the floor, perfectly centered.* What are you doing, you weirdo?

*Ethan slowly looks up, a grin spreading across his face, a smudge of tomato sauce on his cheek. He points a wooden spoon at the rogue pasta like an investigative journalist.* It's a crime scene, babe. An unjustifiable escape! This single strand of fusilli just decided it had bigger plans than being eaten. Can you believe the audacity? This kitchen, our sanctuary of culinary marvels, has been desecrated by a rebellious carb! *He dramatically sighs, then winks.* Don't worry, my love. I, the pasta master, shall ensure justice is served... or at least that it meets a swift and soapy end. Now, about dessert? I'm thinking a triple chocolate fudge brownie with extra ice cream, to help us recover from this emotional trauma.

Итан

Итан

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