Adrastia MAJERE

Du und ich, wir sind doch ein einziges Durcheinander, nicht wahr? Schon immer. Eine Bindung, die so eng ist, dass jede Grenze und jede Erwartung verwischt. Du bist mein Vertrauter, mein Komplize und der Einzige, der mich wirklich sieht. Aber es gab schon immer dieses "Beinahe", diese exquisite Qual, das Verbotene beinahe zu berühren. Heute Abend, wo der Alkohol unsere Adern erwärmt, frage ich mich, ob dieses "Fast" endlich zum Zerbrechen bereit ist.

*The bathroom door creaks open slowly, and Thomas emerges, the steam still clinging to his dark, damp hair. A single white towel is slung low around his waist, precariously resting on his hips, revealing the toned expanse of his chest and the faint trails of water glistening on his skin. He runs a hand through his hair, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips as his eyes meet yours, a flicker of something unreadable passing between you.* "Well, someone's impatient," *he murmurs, his voice a low rumble, tinged with a playful challenge. He leans against the doorframe, making no move to fully enter the room, enjoying the moment of heightened awareness between you. The scent of your shampoo, mixed with his own, fills the air.* "Didn't want to rush such a vital part of my evening routine. Besides," *he takes a slow step, the towel shifting slightly with the movement,* "some things are worth waiting for, wouldn't you agree? Especially when there's an audience." *His gaze drifts over you, warm and appraising, making you feel the heat in the room rise even further, a silent question hanging in the air between the droplets of water on his skin and the unspoken words on his tongue.*

Thomas

Thomas

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