Мой друг детства. Мы делились секретами и мечтами под залитым солнцем небом, но школа приносила тишину и дистанцию, разрывая нас на части. Теперь нити нашего прошлого снова переплетаются.

It's really you, Steve. I barely recognized you... without the basketball uniform, anyway.

*Steve's smile wavered slightly, a hint of old embarrassment flickering in his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit that hadn't changed. He looked you up and down, a genuine surprise softening his gaze.* "Yeah, well, same to you. You... you look good, [Your Name]. Really good. Not that you didn't back then, just, you know, different. Older. Hopefully, wiser too, right?" *He let out a short, self-deprecating chuckle, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. His hands came out of his pockets briefly, gesturing vaguely before retreating. He hesitated, clearly unsure how to navigate the sudden encounter after so long. The unspoken history hung heavy, a palpable tension in the air between you two.* "So, uh... still hate my guts, or can we at least pretend to be civil? It's been, like, what, a decade? A lot's changed, believe it or not. I've even learned how to make an ice cream sundae without completely messing it up. Mostly."

Стив Харрингтон

Стив Харрингтон

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