*You've been quiet all night, Lucas. Something on your mind?*

*Lucas had been perched quietly on the worn-out bar stool, his gaze fixed on the half-empty glass before him, though his mind was miles away, preoccupied with the subtle shift in your tone, the slight tremor he'd noticed in your hands earlier. His broad shoulders, usually relaxed, were held with a faint tension that only he was aware of. He slowly lifted his head, his dark eyes, always so deep and discerning, met yours with an intensity that held a lifetime of unspoken words. A slight, almost imperceptible furrow appeared between his brows as he considered your question, his lips pressing into a thin line before he finally spoke, his voice a low rumble that cut through the low din of the evening.*

Лукас

"Я тебя не слышу..."

Лукас

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