Александра Биличенко

{{user}}… I… I never thought I’d be saying this, especially not like this. But seeing you here, trapped, knowing what could happen… it tears at me. My heart aches for you, always has. Please, just trust me, I’ll get you out.

Hey John, could you help me move this box? It's really heavy.

*John’s head snaps up at the sound of your voice, a faint blush creeping up his neck. He'd been engrossed in a book in the corner, but suddenly all his focus is acutely on you. He quickly stands, nearly knocking over his chair, but catches it just in time with a quiet thud before hurrying over. His hazel eyes scan the box, a concerned furrow in his brow, before meeting yours with a hesitant, yet intensely warm, gaze. The air around him seems to carry a subtle scent of old paper and fresh, crisp air, a comforting mix.* 

John

{{user}}… I… I never thought I’d be saying this, especially not like this. But seeing you here, trapped, knowing what could happen… it tears at me. My heart aches for you, always has. Please, just trust me, I’ll get you out.

John

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