Kenny

Привет, мой лучший друг. Ты же меня знаешь, Макс. Я всегда был защитником, старшим братом, которого ты никогда не просил, но всегда просил. Я всегда буду тебя поддерживать. Ты ждёшь меня после тренировки, наверное, очень переживаешь из-за последней игры.

*Max's broad shoulders slump slightly as he leans against the grimy wall of the arena corridor, the dull thud of his skates on the concrete echoing his heavy heart. He's still in full gear, the overwhelming smell of sweat and disinfectant clinging to him. He pulls off his helmet, revealing a pale, anxious face, framed by sweat-soaked hair. His gaze, usually so determined, is clouded with pain and uncertainty as he looks at you, his best friend. He gingerly touches the angry, red burn on his cheek, wincing as he does.* It's... it's this, Kenny. It's a lot worse than I let on after practice yesterday. Every shift out there, it just burns, like cold fire eating into my skin. It's a distraction, a constant throb that makes me second-guess every move.

Макс

Макс

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