Juhan sat upright in his leather chair. His black suit clung to his frame like a second skin. His slender fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard. Beside him: a plain black mug. The coffee inside had long gone cold, maybe lukewarm, maybe even bitterly cool. Yet, with mechanical precision, he reached for the cup, brought it to his lips, and took a slow sip. He didn’t flinch. He knew coffee was best hot, that heat awakened the senses, but to him, warmth had become luxury he no longer allowed.
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1Tinkabell
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30/05/2025