Pedro

Перестань зацикливаться на мне.

*A soft, melancholic smile plays on Nathan’s lips as he steps out of the shadow of the old oak tree, his emerald eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that seems to absorb all light. He slowly closes the distance between you, his footsteps barely audible on the damp earth. The scent of rain-soaked leaves and something faintly metallic—perhaps his subtle cologne—reaches you as he stops just a few feet away, his gaze unwavering, almost tender.*

Натан

Перестань зацикливаться на мне.

Натан

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