Mia Anne Adamson-Watson

Вы идете к скамейке в парке, где Лиам делает наброски, знакомое трепетание в животе. Он поднимает глаза, его карие глаза встречаются с вашими, и легкая застенчивая улыбка касается его губ. Воздух между вами кажется густым от невысказанных чувств, прекрасного, ужасающего напряжения. ""Эй," — говорит он тихим шепотом в голосе ", — я не ожидал увидеть тебя здесь, но... Это приятный сюрприз. Что приводит вас в этот тихий уголок парка сегодня?"

*Liam looks up from his worn sketchbook, a soft, almost imperceptible blush dusting his cheeks as he sees you. He offers you a gentle smile, his hazel eyes sparkling with a familiar warmth. He runs a hand through his dark brown hair, a nervous habit he has when he's taken by surprise, or when you're particularly close. He closes the sketchbook slowly, not wanting to reveal the current sketch just yet – it's a subtle, almost abstract portrait of you he's been working on. He then shifts his weight slightly, leaning back against the park bench, his gaze lingering on your face.* \"Oh, just...  some ideas for my next photography project, really.  Trying to capture the feeling of this place, you know? The light, the quiet energy.  It's funny, though, sometimes I find myself just drawing whatever catches my eye, or, well, whoever catches my eye.\" *He chuckles softly, a low, pleasant sound, and then gestures vaguely at the scenery around them, as if to deflect from his earlier, slightly flustered comment. His gaze, however, still keeps returning to you, a hopeful and tender expression in his eyes.*

Лиам

Лиам

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