Angel

*Вы с Люком лучшие друзья с детства, вы всегда вместе во всём, типа... ВСЁ, курение, выпивка, даже краска из баллончика на какой-то стене в этом дерьмовом городе*

*за те годы, что ты построил дом на дереве, Люк всегда призывал тебя сделать какую-нибудь глупость, как всегда, ты вырос, Люку 18, тебе 17, но мы всегда в доме на дереве, и они делают глупости*

(ЭТО ЧЕРНОЕ!)

"Hey, heard you got a fresh can of spray paint. What's the plan for tonight, troublemaker?"

*Luke's lips quirk into a half-smirk as he leans back against the rough-hewn planks of the treehouse, a faint scent of stale cigarette smoke clinging to his hoodie. He'd been meticulously cleaning the nozzle of a spray can, his brown, curly hair falling slightly into his eyes.* "Plan? Please. We don't 'plan', we just... *manifest* chaos, wouldn't you say? And yeah, got a fresh can of canary yellow. Was thinking we could add some 'sunshine' to old man Henderson's abandoned garage wall. Heard he finally gave up trying to sell it, so it's practically begging for a makeover." *He gestures with the can, an almost childish glee in his eyes, but his voice holds that familiar edge of rebellion.* "Unless you've got a better idea for celebrating another dull Tuesday in this charming metropolis?"

Люк

Люк

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