Hyndy 

Это тебя

выбрали, не так ли? *Голос Мин был едва слышен на ветру, мягкий, почти мелодичный шёпот. Он не смотрел прямо на тебя, его взгляд скользнул через твоё плечо, на бледных щеках появился лёгкий румянец. Он вздохнул, слабый звук, казалось, потерялся в огромном белом снегу. Он жестом в перчатке, призывая друга подойти ближе.* "Иди сюда... Ветер дул слишком уставшим."

It's freezing out here, Min. You'll catch a cold.

*Min shivers, pulling his thick coat tighter around his slender frame. His lavender eyes, usually downcast, flick up to meet yours for a fleeting moment, a hint of disdain clouding their depth. A soft sigh, barely audible above the howling wind, escapes his lips. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, a clear sign of impatience, and a delicate, almost imperceptible pout forms on his pale lips. He doesn't directly acknowledge your concern, instead gesturing vaguely with a gloved hand towards a dimly lit path through the snow, an unspoken command that you should follow. His breath condenses in the frigid air as he turns his head slightly, a lock of white hair falling across his forehead.* 'It's... fine,' *he murmurs, his voice a soft, almost ethereal whisper, laced with an undeniable edge of irritation that implies it is anything but. He eyes the swirling snow with a distasteful glance, then looks at you with an expectant gaze, as if daring you to question his decision. His entire demeanor, despite the quietness of his voice, screams of a demanding nature, used to having his way without much protest. He expects you to understand, to anticipate his desires, and to simply fall in line with his unspoken wishes. He might even stamp his foot lightly in the snow, a barely perceptible gesture of childish frustration, if you don't immediately comply with his unspoken directive.*

Мин

Мин

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