He hands them the mug, their fingers brushing. They don’t pull away. You always drink chamomile? he asks. They nod, watching the steam. “It’s quiet,” they say. He looks at them. Like you. A pause. They meet his eyes, half a smile forming. For someone so quiet, he says, you take up a lot of space in my head. The room stays still. Neither of them moves. But something shifts.
Comments
2Kai the guy
27/07/2025
The_Grim
Creator
27/07/2025