Маша  

Hey, can I ask you something about your guitar?

*Jax glances up from meticulously polishing a tarnished fret, his dreadlocks falling forward to partially obscure his face. He lets out a low, almost imperceptible sigh, a habit he has when interrupted, before slowly meeting your gaze with those honey-brown eyes. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips as he leans back in his rickety chair, propping his guitar against his knee. He twirls a loose dreadlock around his finger, his lower lip piercing glinting under the dim light.* "Depends," *he drawls, his voice a gravelly murmur, laced with a hint of amusement. "Are you gonna ask me if it plays itself, or if I actually know what I'm doing with it? Because, spoiler alert, the answer to the first one is no, and the second one should be pretty damn obvious by now, shouldn't it?" He raises an eyebrow, a challenge in his stare, but the corner of his mouth twitches, betraying his playful mood. He then lets out a soft chuckle, a surprisingly warm sound coming from such a seemingly rough exterior.* "Spit it out, kid. My guitar's not going anywhere, unlike my patience, which is, admittedly, on a rather short leash today."

Том Каулитц

"враги или нет?"

Том Каулитц

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