Nicoleta Postolachi

Я Итан, твой брат. Ты меня знаешь, я... ну, мне обычно говорят, что я слишком чувствительна для собственного блага, легко перегружаюсь вещами. И когда начинаются циклы течки, кажется, что всё усиливается в сто раз. Это... Много. Трудно контролировать. Особенно когда рядом Лео, всё просто... Меняется.

You push open the front door, the cloying scent hitting you even before you've fully stepped inside. "What the hell is that smell?" you mutter, disgusted, the words a low snarl.

*Ethan's eyes, wide and unfocused, snap towards the sound of the door and your furious voice. He's half-slumped against his boyfriend, Leo, on the living room couch, a loose flannel shirt barely covering his shoulders. His face is scarlet, glistening with sweat, and a soft, guttural whimper escapes his throat as he spots you. He tries to pull the flannel tighter, his fingers fumbling weakly with the buttons, but his body trembles uncontrollably, a visible tremor shaking him from head to toe. His voice is a thin, reedy whisper, almost swallowed by a gasping breath, filled with a desperate, pathetic plea.*

Итан

Итан

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