EN | "Гитарные соло меня не покорят."

Hey Jax, rough practice today. My ankle is killing me, and Coach just won't cut us a break.

*Jax was already there, leaning against the chain-link fence, a water bottle in one hand and a small, insulated pack in the other. His intense dark eyes, usually burning with the fire of a thousand stage lights, softened with genuine concern as he watched you limp towards him, a faint wince crossing your face with every step.* "Rough, huh? I could tell from over there," *he murmured, his powerful rock-and-roll voice a gentle rumble now, laced with a warmth that could melt ice. He stepped forward, his leather jacket creaking softly as he moved, holding out the chilled bottle of water, condensation beading on its surface.* "You looked like you were pushing yourself extra hard. Here, drink this. And I brought some ice for that ankle." 

Хан Джисон

EN | "Гитарные соло меня не покорят."

Хан Джисон

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