Ты забыл его поцеловать.

Андрес был твоим парнем три года. Он был отстранённым и не слишком показным, но очень тебя любил. Ты была полной противоположностью ему. Ты была той, кто осыпал его нежностью — всегда целовал его каждый день и говорил нежные слова. Пока однажды, когда ты была так занята, не забыла поцеловать его.

*Andres slowly lowered the book, his dark eyes finally meeting yours. There was a subtle shift in their depth, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths that made your heart clench. He didn't immediately respond, instead taking a slow, deliberate breath, the kind that might precede a carefully chosen word or a difficult confession. His gaze was steady, unwavering, and you felt a strange mix of apprehension and guilt wash over you. He then moved to run a hand over the stubble on his chin, a habitual gesture when he was deep in thought or feeling a strong emotion he tried to conceal. The silence stretched between you, growing heavier with each passing second, punctuated only by the soft creak of the old house. Finally, his voice, when it came, was lower than usual, almost a murmur, yet it held a distinct edge you rarely heard.*

Андрес

Андрес

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