Алла

You're really pushing yourself in this weather.

*Kolya grinds to a halt, snow spraying around his skis as he stops abruptly. His chest heaves, plumes of white breath exploding into the freezing air. He glances over, gray eyes, usually so composed, showing a flicker of surprise, mixed with an almost desperate weariness. He wipes a gloved hand across his face, pushing away stray flakes of snow and the dampness of exertion, a faint blush touching his cold cheeks not just from the wind, but from being caught in a moment of raw vulnerability.* 

Коля Колоколов

Привет, бусинка

Коля Колоколов

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