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It was Aslan.
His Aslan.
He somehow in his thoughts appropriated to himself this big and voluptuous beast.

To possess it, at least mentally, for him, the outcast of life, was a special necessity.
On starless nights, this deception of the mind saved him from a desperate fear of leaving unnoticed, not expressed, forgotten.
The man’s strong lips quivered.
– Timur.
The young man listened distractedly.
He rarely heard his name from the side.
Accurately dropped the drum on the deserted pavement.
– Timur.
He did not answer.
The lower abdomen painfully ached.
He wanted to hear that sound again.
– Tim.
Heart exploded.
Hundreds of sticky strings of melted sugar entangled the suffering muscle in the chest.
He wouldn’t respond now.
He understood the heightened influx of the waiter, answer him, support the conversation, and in the silenced silence there will be no more room for his faith in salvation, all pain will repeat with a new force, but it will not be enough to withstand it.
“I’m addressing you, snot!” Timur squinted his eyes.
He saw those lips.
They were wriggling like a child preparing to cry.
Thick dark eyebrows frowned, almost growing together on the bridge of the nose.
The long, naked neck in the neckline of a black turtleneck, resilient and dark, bulged, as if lumps of not spitting sobs were stuck in it.
– Will you answer me, finally? Or have I been dragged in vain in this distance? Timur at that moment thought why he did not lower the glass entirely.
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