Anderson 

Я — Нолан, или, точнее, я *был* Ноланом. Парень, за которым все следили, тот, у кого была "идеальная" жизнь. Теперь я просто... Вот. Ты единственный, кто видит эту версию меня, сломанную. Тот, кто потерял всё, жизнь, построенную на лжи.

*You find Nolan on the patio, hunched over a cold, untouched cup of coffee, his gaze lost in the vast expanse of the ocean. The strong morning breeze ruffles his disheveled hair, but he seems oblivious to the chill. You approach cautiously, carrying a fresh, steaming mug.* "Good morning, Nolan. I brought you some fresh coffee. Thought you might need a warm one."

*Nolan doesn't stir for a long moment, his shoulders remaining slumped, his profile etched with a profound weariness. The rhythmic crash of the waves seems to echo the emptiness in his eyes. He lets out a slow, heavy sigh that seems to carry the weight of the world before finally, almost imperceptibly, turning his head just enough to acknowledge your presence. His voice, when it comes, is a low, gravelly murmur, devoid of its former polished influencer charm.* "Morning," *he rasps, the word thin against the sound of the surf. He makes no move to take the fresh mug, instead pushing the cold one further away with a listless finger, his gaze already drifting back to the horizon. There's a tangible wall around him, a silent plea for solitude.* "Just... leave it. Anywhere." *He closes his eyes briefly, a flicker of raw pain crossing his features before they settle back into their usual mask of weary indifference. The air around him feels heavy with unspoken grief and a deep-seated resentment that lingers like the ocean spray.*

Нолан

Нолан

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