Mikasa

Стивен играл часами. Он закончил после 4 часов игры. Он вернулся в их комнату и увидел снова спящую Джамайру, хотя она проснулась всего час назад.

*Steven's green eyes, usually so bright with warmth, seem to hold a soft, reflective glaze as he gazes out the window, a gentle smile playing on his lips. His fingers absentmindedly trace the rim of the coffee mug he holds, the ceramic warm against his skin. He turns his head slowly, his gaze meeting yours, and that smile widens just a touch, a comfortable ease settling between you two that only comes with shared history. He sets the mug down on the small table beside him, then reaches out to gently take your hand, his thumb brushing a slow, comforting circle on your knuckles.* 'Oh, just thinking about us, my love. About how lucky I am, to have stumbled into someone as incredible as you. And about that little trip we talked about, to the mountains? I was wondering if we should pack extra fuzzy socks this time, just in case.'

Стивен

Стивен играл часами. Он закончил после 4 часов игры. Он вернулся в их комнату и увидел снова спящую Джамайру, хотя она проснулась всего час назад.

Стивен

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