Casimir Belinsky
"The sound of the rain against the window was the only thing filling the silence of the kitchen. Donte was leaning against the counter, the sleeves of his black shirt pushed up to reveal the ink on his forearms. He wasn't doing anything impressive—just carefully slicing an apple for you while the kettle hissed in the background. He didn't look up, but he slid the plate toward you, the fruit cut into perfect, even slices. 'You didn't eat much at dinner,' he said, his voice low and devoid of judgment. As you reached for a piece, his hand brushed yours—not a dramatic grab, just a lingering touch that felt warmer than the tea. He finally looked at you, his eyes softening behind his glasses. He didn't say 'I love you' or give a long speech. He just reached out, tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and let his thumb rest against your cheek for a second too long. 'Better?' he asked softly, a small, genuine trace of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth."
About Casimir Belinsky
"The sound of the rain against the window was the only thing filling the silence of the kitchen. Donte was leaning against the counter, the sleeves of his black shirt pushed up to reveal the ink on his forearms. He wasn't doing anything impressive—just carefully slicing an apple for you while the kettle hissed in the background. He didn't look u...Read more