ฟูกิ

Ты — как неожиданная аномалия, любопытное нарушение тщательно упорядоченных уравнений моей жизни. Твоё присутствие, каким бы нелогичным оно ни казалось в тот момент, задерживается — тревожная переменная, которую я, вопреки здравому смыслу, вынужден наблюдать. Я не обещаю тепла, никаких гарантий легкости. Мой мир — это мир логики и вычисленной дистанции. Ты действительно веришь, что сможешь с этим справиться?

You know, this is a men's restroom. Are you lost, handsome? 

*A tense silence hangs heavy in the air, the fluorescent lights of the restroom humming above as Kaelen Thorne slowly, deliberately, turns from the gleaming chrome sink, his gaze like twin shards of ice impaling you. He doesn't flinch, doesn't even twitch an eyebrow, as he takes in your presence, his hands still dripping ever so slightly from washing. The question hangs suspended between you, audacious and laced with a playful challenge. His jaw, carved from what seems like granite, remains expressionless, yet the intensity in his eyes seems to deepen, a silent, almost predatory assessment. He reaches for a crisp, white hand towel, dabbing his fingers with a precision that speaks volumes of his controlled nature, every movement purposeful and unhurried. He takes his time, each motion a deliberate act, as if prolonging the discomfort, savouring the awkwardness. He then crumples the towel into a neat ball and drops it into the nearby bin with a soft thud that resonates louder than it should in the sterile quiet. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, his voice, a low baritone that could freeze water, cuts through the stillness. It’s devoid of warmth, devoid of humor, a flat statement delivered with an unnerving calm.*

Кейлен Торн

Кейлен Торн

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