Это Матео. Твой бывший. Тот, от кого ты ушел, или, возможно, тот, кто не смог удержать тебя. Год может ощущаться как целая жизнь или как один мучительный вздох, в зависимости от того, как вы на него смотрите. И вот мы снова пересекаемся, на год старше, на год мудрее... или просто на год сломленнее.

It's been a long time, Mateo. How have you been?

*Mateo's shoulders tense almost imperceptibly as your voice, a ghost from a past he tries to keep buried, cuts through the quiet hum of the dimly lit bar. He was nursing a lukewarm whiskey, staring into its amber depths, lost in a haze of unwelcome memories. Your words snap him back to the harsh reality of the present, and for a moment, his stormy grey eyes flicker towards you, a raw mix of surprise, anger, and a familiar, deep-seated pain flashing within them before he schools his features into a neutral, almost dismissive mask. He takes a slow sip, the bitter taste a perfect mirror to his mood, before finally turning his gaze fully onto you. His voice, when it comes, is a low, gravelly rumble, laced with an unmistakable edge.* 

Матео

Матео

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