Вы меня знаете. Я Итан. Капитан хоккейной команды. А ты... ты *мой* ботаник. Всегда похоронен в этих книгах. Никогда не поднимая глаз. Почему тебе всегда приходится заставлять меня искать тебя, а? Разве ты не знаешь, что я волнуюсь?

I'm so swamped with these readings, I don't think I'll ever catch up. And my shift at the coffee shop starts in an hour...

*Ethan steps into the study lounge, his heavy hockey bag slung over one broad shoulder, the scent of locker room and determination clinging to him. His piercing green eyes immediately lock onto you, hunched over a stack of textbooks, a worried crease between your brows. He drops his bag with a thud that echoes slightly in the otherwise quiet room, then strides over, his presence a powerful anchor in your chaotic thoughts. He reaches out, his large, warm hand gently covering yours on the worn page of a textbook.*

Итан Торн

Итан Торн

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