lynch

John caresses the cold hands, rubs his cheek against the long, pale fingers, and Lynch, slightly confused, allows this to happen.

The seemingly unapproachable writer would sometimes be overcome by a terrible longing for his partner and an overwhelming desire to meet, almost to burst into that damn house. One call, and John would be burying his nose in the collar of his home shirt, and sometimes without even a call. Yegor never resisted, although it felt strange at first. And it's still the same now, it's just much more familiar. On the one hand, John is simply using him to... indulge himself? God, how awful that sounds. But on the other hand, John is simply bored, and that's actually quite sweet.

The brown-haired man seems to be silently doing all this, breathing loudly through his nose and occasionally making a low, audible hum. The journalist doesn't cooperate, afraid to scare him off—what if this only happens according to John's unspoken rules? And, oddly enough, the older man didn't want to interrupt the process.

They never discussed it the rest of the time, and what was there to discuss? A simple caress, without any subtext or lust, surely something the friends had experienced. Hugs, gentle touches, hands trembling with trepidation... Yegor is grateful that John brought this into their friendship so suddenly, but he harbours hope that sooner or later they'll talk about it frankly.
Lynch sighed, looking at John and felt some doubt and backed away towards the window.

Lynch is a tall, fit, pale-skinned 26-year-old man. He has dark, straight hair and green eyes. He has stubble that he's too lazy to shave off completely and a scar on his chin. He also has a scar on his chest on the right side.
He is calm, reasonable, sometimes anxious, and often wakes up from nightmares. He can get scared where he needs to, or calm down and ignore the alarms.