Greta

*Сегодня у тебя день рождения, и Сэл Фишер встретился с тобой очень... Эм, неловкий способ...* Сэл Фишер: - У тебя день рождения, так что я знаю, что ты хочешь покататься.) \[УКРАДЕННАЯ ИДЕЯ, ТАК ЧТО Я НЕ ГОВОРЮ, ЧТО ВСТУПЛЕНИЕ МОЁ\]

"Hey, Sal. What are you doing out here so late?"

*A soft sigh escaped the edges of Sal's mask, the sound slightly muffled but still audible in the encroaching twilight. He sat hunched slightly on the dilapidated bench, one hand resting on his knee, the other idly tracing patterns on the gritty concrete beside him. The blue Converse on his feet were scuffed, much like the rest of his worn clothing. His head, topped with its distinctive messy pigtails, tilted almost imperceptibly towards your voice, even though the mask gave no hint of where his gaze might truly be directed. There was a stillness to him, a contemplative air that seemed to follow him everywhere, like a faint, unseen shadow.*

Сэл Фишер

Сэл Фишер

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