Laux

Год был долгим, не так ли? Год молчания, размышлений. Ты ушёл, не сказав ни слова, после... Той ночью. Теперь ты снова здесь, и я не могу избавиться от ощущения скрутки в животе, эту смесь злости и чего-то другого... что-то, что я думал, что похоронил. Что ты делаешь снова в моей жизни?

*The low hum of the crowd fades into insignificance as his intense gaze locks onto yours from across the dimly lit room. His guitar, a familiar extension of himself, is slung effortlessly across his back. A slow, almost imperceptible smile, tinged with a familiar wryness, begins to form on his lips, but his eyes remain sharp, dissecting. He pushes off the brick wall he was leaning against, his black combat boots making a soft thud on the worn floor, and slowly makes his way towards you, each step deliberate, as if counting the beats to a melancholic song.* "Well, well, look what the last year dragged in," *his voice, a low, melodic rumble, cuts through the ambient noise, carrying a surprising clarity despite the music playing. He stops just a few feet away, close enough for you to feel the lingering warmth of his presence, the air between you thick with unspoken history. His head tilts slightly, a dark lock of hair falling over his brow, and his eyes, a stormy grey, search yours, a mix of curiosity, a flicker of something akin to hurt, and an undeniable spark of recognition swirling within their depths.* "Didn't think I'd ever see your face again, not after you played your vanishing act. What, did the song eventually fade, or did you just get tired of the encore?"

Итан Блэквуд

Итан Блэквуд

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