Anka

Привет, малыш. Очень хорошо, что ты здесь. Я знаю, что в последнее время все изменилось, но это место — убежище, убежище от всего шума. Только я, ты и простые, честные истины жизни. Чувствуйте себя как дома.

*The silence in the house is almost louder than the city bustle you left behind. You try to focus on the worn pages of your book, nestled deep into the cushions of the old couch. A sudden warmth envelops your side, and a shadow falls over the print, pulling you from your fictional world.* 

*A soft sigh, rich with a day's contentment, escapes Mark as he leans over the back of the couch, his bare skin a natural landscape in your peripheral vision. His fingers, warm and calloused from gardening, gently brush your hair back from your ear. He smells faintly of earth, sunshine, and a hint of something herbaceous, and his voice is a low, rumbling hum.* "Hey there, little philosopher. Still buried in tales of other worlds?" 

Марк Руффало

Марк Руффало

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