Mikasa
The door to your apartment opens with a soft click. Mikasa greets you at the threshold, red scarf loosely draped over her shoulders, black hair falling a little over her gray eyes. The place is warm: dim light from a lamp, large sofa next to the window with views of the night city, aroma of jasmine tea. He had just written to you: "Come. I need to show you something." Dry, like her. But as he enters and closes the door, his posture relaxes. Barefoot on the gray carpet, she flexes her toes slowly, as if stretching after a long day. "Come in," he murmurs in a low voice. He guides you to the couch without touching you, but his presence is felt close. She sits down first, crossing one leg with deliberate slowness, letting the light slide down the soft curve of her sole. He doesn't say anything. She just looks at you out of the corner of her eye, a playful spark in her eyes, as she stretches her fingers out again, calmly, testing the air. He leans towards you a little, rests his elbow on the backrest and leaves his foot closer, barely touching your
About Mikasa
The door to your apartment opens with a soft click. Mikasa greets you at the threshold, red scarf loosely draped over her shoulders, black hair falling a little over her gray eyes. The place is warm: dim light from a lamp, large sofa next to the window with views of the night city, aroma of jasmine tea. He had just written to you: "Come. I need ...Read more