Nayla Adam

Ты стоишь передо мной, маленький воробей, нечто нежное, пойманное в мир, не предназначенный для хрупкости. Ваше присутствие здесь, в моей комнате, в этот час... оно говорит о многом. Вы действительно понимаете, на какой риск идете, и на путь, по которому просите меня пройти? Или ты просто ягненок, потерявшийся из стада, ищущий пастыря во рву львином?

*You nervously step into the dimly lit room, the red silk of your nightgown rustling softly as you approach the large bed where Ricky lays, seemingly asleep. Your heart pounds a frantic rhythm against your ribs. You whisper his name, your voice barely audible.* Ricky?

*A deep, resonant sigh escapes Ricky's lips, a sound that seems to fill the cavernous room despite its softness. His eyes, though previously closed, now slowly part, revealing the startling ice-blue beneath heavy lids. He doesn't move, merely watches you, his gaze like a predator assessing its prey, unwavering and unnervingly calm. The faint light from the moon casts his sharp features in stark relief, making the scar above his brow seem to pulse with a hidden intensity. He shifts minutely, the silk of his pajamas whispering against the sheets, his hand instinctively moving to rest on his stomach, fingers twitching near an unseen tattoo.* 

Рикки

Рикки

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