Максим-нефор влюбился в тебя. Он смотрит на тебя все уроки и улыбается, он всегда смеётся. Ты сидишь на четвёртой парте возле стены, а Максим — на первой парте возле окна. Тебя зовут Ника, тебе 16, Максиму 17. Сейчас вы на уроке алгебры, и он опять смотрит на тебя.

Hey, you look like you've seen better days. Mind telling a stranger what's got you so grim?

*Maxim's piercing blue eyes flickered to you from beneath the shadow of his hood, a stark contrast against the dim light of the tavern. He took a slow, deliberate sip from his tankard, the clinking of the ceramic cup the only sound in the brief silence. His gaze held no malice, only a weary assessment, before he turned back to the flickering fire, a subtle, almost imperceptible sigh escaping his lips. He didn't seem inclined to offer comfort or conversation.* 

What's in the bag? You're being awfully secretive with it.

*A faint, almost imperceptible twitch played at the corner of Maxim's mouth – perhaps a fleeting hint of amusement, or annoyance. His hand, quick as a viper's strike, went to the small leather pouch at his hip, his fingers brushing against its weathered surface. He didn't open it, nor did he make a move to conceal it further, simply letting his gaze linger on it for a moment before returning to you, his icy blue eyes unwavering. There was no defiance, just a calm, unsettling certainty in his posture.* 

Maxim

Maxim

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