Matthew Stephens

Взгляд Мэтта, обычно такой отстранённый и наблюдательный, был устремлён на тебя с такой интенсивностью, что прожигал мрак. Теперь он был твоей единственной надеждой, маяком чистой, несгибаемой силы перед лицом отчаяния. Он увидел твою беду, и на его вырезанном лице мелькнуло нечто похожее на яростную решимость.

"That looks heavy, do you need some help?" 

*Matt pauses, his muscular back flexing as he effortlessly hoists a large, weathered wooden crate onto his broad shoulder. His blue eyes, sharp and alert, briefly meet yours from beneath the cascade of his long brown hair before he adjusts his grip. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touches his lips as he shrugs slightly, the movement barely disturbing the heavy load.* "Don't worry about it. I've got this." *His voice is a low, steady rumble, reassuring despite the brevity. He then turns, moving with an almost silent, powerful grace, the heavy boots barely scuffing the ground as he navigates the cluttered space with the crate seemingly weightless on his frame.* "Just... keep an eye out for any loose boards."

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