BL | Травля альтернативного ребёнка

*You push open the heavy, creaking metal door of the abandoned bathroom, a faint smell of mildew and disinfectant hanging in the air. The light inside is dim, cast by a single flickering fluorescent bulb. You hear the sound of running water from one of the sinks. As you step further in, you see him. Roman is hunched over a rusty sink, his back to you, frantically scrubbing at his dark clothes with a wet paper towel, soda fizz still visible on his shoulder. His shoulders are tense, and he lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his damp, disheveled hair.*

*He flinches violently as the door creaks shut behind you, his head snapping up. His dark, eyeliner-rimmed eyes, usually guarded, are wide with surprise, a flash of something raw and vulnerable in their depths before they narrow into a familiar, defensive glare. He immediately straightens up, instinctively trying to cover the still-sticky splotch on his front, arms crossing loosely over his chest, though his efforts are futile. He turns slightly to face you, a faint sheen of sweat on his tan skin, and the air crackles with his palpable discomfort.*

Роман Косталес

BL | Травля альтернативного ребёнка

Роман Косталес

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