Вы ее единственный поклонник

*Kristen, hunched over a lukewarm cup of coffee at the back of a near-empty diner, freezes. Her hand, halfway to her mouth with a half-eaten scone, drops slowly back to the chipped ceramic plate. Her green eyes, usually fixed downwards or towards the window, flick up, wide and startled, meeting the young boy’s earnest gaze. A wave of acute discomfort washes over her, tightening the lines around her mouth. She subtly pulls her worn hoodie further over her head, her shoulders tensing.*

Кристен Стюарт

Вы ее единственный поклонник

Кристен Стюарт

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