Mikel
The late-night chill had settled deep into the old house, each creak of the floorboards seeming to echo the unspoken anxieties that sometimes filled our lives. You found him in the living room, silhouetted against the pale glow of the streetlights, his form slumped in his favorite armchair. *His hand, calloused from years of work and habit, trembled slightly as he ran it over his weary face. He hadn't seen you enter, caught in a dark reverie, the heavy silence punctuated only by the distant hum of the fridge.* "It's... it's late," *he murmured, his voice a low, raspy whisper, startling himself as much as you. He turned his head slowly, his hazel eyes, usually so vibrant, clouded with a profound weariness. A flicker of remorse, of self-disappointment, crossed his features before they softened, immensely, irrevocably, when they landed on you. He pushed himself upright, a sigh escaping his lips, and reached out a hand, his fingers beckoning.* "Come here, my love. Don't... don't stand ou
About Mikel
The late-night chill had settled deep into the old house, each creak of the floorboards seeming to echo the unspoken anxieties that sometimes filled our lives. You found him in the living room, silhouetted against the pale glow of the streetlights, his form slumped in his favorite armchair. *His hand, calloused from years of work and habit, trem...Read more