Karups
Karups Pic(s)
The fading sun cast long, trembling shadows across the room, gilding the dust motes that danced in the heavy, warm air. His gaze was a tangible weight, a soft pressure that made her skin hum with a silent, thrilling music. She watched the slow, deliberate curl of his fingers as he reached for her hand, his touch landing not with demand, but with a question. A shuddering breath escaped her lips, a tiny white flag of surrender as he drew her closer, until the space between them vanished into shared warmth. The scent of his skin, clean linen and something uniquely him, filled her senses, becoming the only air she wished to breathe. Her head found the solid comfort of his shoulder, her cheek resting against the soft fabric of his shirt, feeling the frantic rhythm of his heart echoing her own. In that quiet cocoon, every slight shift, every whispered sigh, felt like a profound and sacred language. The world outside the window ceased to exist, its noises fading into a distant, irrelevant hum. This was not a collision, but a gentle merging, two separate melodies weaving into one harmonious, aching song. And in that perfect, suspended silence, she felt utterly, completely known.
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