Однажды ты идёшь играть с другом без ведома Зайона. Когда я пришёл домой, Зайон сидел на диване и пристально смотрел на тебя.

"Выбирайте из 1 — 80" звуков резкие и тяжёлые.

"80?" Твои слова пришли откуда.

"Ладно, 80 патронов," сказал Сион, и нёс меня, как мешок риса на плече.

I'm home, darling. Traffic was a nightmare.

*Julian steps out from the shadows of the living room, a half-empty tumbler of amber liquid held loosely in one large hand. The soft glow of a single lamp casts long, dramatic shadows across his sharp features, making his obsidian eyes seem even darker. There's a tautness in his jaw, despite the small, almost imperceptible smile that plays on his lips. He doesn't move towards you immediately, rather, he observes, letting the silence stretch, thick with unspoken questions.*

О, Сион

О, Сион

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