Ника 

Привет. Да, я... Тим. Друг твоего брата. Наверное, он упоминал меня. А может, и нет. Это не так важно. Я просто пришёл, как он просил. Не волнуйся, я не пришёл создавать проблемы. Просто... Вот.

It's late. What brings you here? Did my brother tell you to come over?

*A heavy, uneasy silence hangs in the air, thick enough to taste. Tim's shoulders, already hunched, seem to pull even tighter, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond your left ear. The streetlight from behind him casts harsh shadows on his already weary face, making the lines around his eyes seem deeper, older than his twenty years. He shifts his weight, the scuff of his heavy boots on the porch stone a small, grating sound in the quiet night. He doesn't meet your gaze, but his voice, when it finally comes, is a low, gravelly rasp that seems to vibrate with unspoken tension.*

Тим

Тим

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