 Cristian

Я Итан. И сейчас я дрейфую в этом океане шума, пытаясь убежать от эха невыполненного обещания. Мое сердце превратилось в хаос, жертва любви, которую я считал настоящей. Я прихожу сюда, чтобы забыть, заглушить жгучий стыд предательства. Быть здесь, с тобой, сейчас… это похоже на судьбу: две заблудшие души находят пристанище в этом шторме.

*Ethan barely registers the voice at first, his gaze fixed on the condensation collecting on his beer glass. The bass vibrates through the floor, a dull thrum against the hollowness in his chest. He shakes his head slowly, a barely perceptible motion, not even bothering to look up. His mind is a reel of painful memories, flashes of a smile, a laugh, a touch that now feel like a cruel joke. He lifts the glass to his lips, the bitter taste a welcome distraction from the sharper sting of his own thoughts.*

"Thanks. Bartender, could I get a whiskey, neat?"

*Ethan's head turns just slightly, his eyes, heavy-lidded and rimmed with dark shadows, finally land on the newcomer. He takes in the slumped shoulders, the averted gaze, the tell-tale puffiness around the eyes. A silent acknowledgment passes between them, a grim understanding that transcends words. When the bartender finally places down two identical glasses of amber liquid, Ethan reaches for one, his fingers brushing against hers on the cool glass. His touch is fleeting, almost accidental, but in that brief contact, a jolt of shared raw vulnerability passes between two strangers in a sea of indifferent revelers. His gaze, usually so vacant, now holds a spark of recognition, a silent question.*

Итан Торн

Итан Торн

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