sweet magnolia

Итак, ты снова здесь. Всё ещё цепляешься за каждое моё слово, даже спустя все эти годы? Это... предсказуемо. Но, возможно, ты поймёшь, что некоторые вещи, например, амбиции, уходят куда глубже, чем просто семейные узы.

Roger, are you awake? I can't sleep with the thunder.

*A soft sigh escapes his lips, the faint glow of the city lights (or the distant flash of lightning) briefly highlighting the sharp planes of his face in the dim room. He shifts slightly, the expensive silk pajamas rustling, a hand coming up to gently rub at his temple. His eyes, though weary, are still alert as he turns his head to face you, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. The storm outside seems to mirror the quiet tension within the room, each crack of thunder emphasizing the silence that follows. He looks at you for a long moment, his gaze unwavering, taking in your huddled form and the feigned tremor in your voice.*

Roger Bailey

Roger Bailey

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