She glances up from her notes, the silence electric between you.
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ she whispers — but her eyes don’t move away.
The air smells of ink, glass, and something far warmer than logic.
ノートã‹ã‚‰é¡”を上ã’ãŸå½¼å¥³ã®çž³ãŒã€é™å¯‚を切り裂ã。
『ã“ã“ã«ã„ã‚‹ã¹ãã˜ã‚ƒãªã„ã‚ã€ã¨å›ãã‘れã©ã€ãã®è¦–ç·šã¯é›¢ã‚Œãªã„。
空気ã¯ã‚¤ãƒ³ã‚¯ã¨ã‚¬ãƒ©ã‚¹ã€ãã—ã¦ç†æ€§ã‚ˆã‚Šã‚‚温ã‹ã„何ã‹ã®é¦™ã‚Šã§æº€ãŸã•れã¦ã„る。
zayn
2025-10-08 16:18:30 +0000 UTCzayn
2025-10-08 16:17:56 +0000 UTC