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All the Closure
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2025-11-12 20:00:10Night presses against the windows like a thick, velvet curtain. The city outside keeps blinking through the half-closed blinds. Thin blades of neon cut across the living-room floor and paint everything in restless blue and gold. The air still carries the ghost of pizza we demolished hours ago. Grease, oregano, and the sour edge of cold coffee cling to every breath. I sit curled on the couch, leather sticking to the backs of my bare thighs. My fingers keep worrying the hem of my old T-shirt. The cotton is soft but soaked with nervous sweat at the small of my back.
José stands by the window. His tall frame blocks half the light, turning him into a sharp silhouette. One hand rests on the glass. His fingertips tap out a nervous, uneven beat. The sound is soft but impossible to ignore. The television murmurs in the corner. Whatever movie we started is long forgotten, muted after he said those quiet, loaded words: “We really should talk about that.” They still float in the air be
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In My Professor's Arms For New Vibe
Sunlight pours through the wide windows of my new apartment. It paints everything in warm gold. Half-unpacked boxes sit scattered across the floor like they’re waiting for permission to belong. The air still holds the faint sweetness of last night’s sushi. It mixes with the rich, dark scent of coffee brewing in the kitchen. Sophie’s humming floats toward me. The tune is light and teasing. It tugs me awake better than any alarm ever could.I open my eyes. The sheets are twisted around my legs. Cool cotton brushes my bare skin. My muscles ache in that satisfying way that only comes from hauling boxes up three flights of stairs. I stretch slowly. My toes point. My back arches. A tiny groan slips out. Sophie’s laughter rings from the kitchen. Bright. Unapologetic. Impossible to ignore. I smile before I even sit up.I roll out of bed and grab the first thing I see. Soft gray sweatpants and a cropped tank. The jeans I wore yesterday lie in a heap. Too much effort. I pad
In My Professor's Arms Best Friend Therapy
Morning light pours through the wide windows of my brand-new apartment. Golden streaks splash across the hardwood floor and bounce off the unpacked boxes scattered everywhere. The boxes look like a giant, chaotic puzzle someone dumped in the middle of my living room.The city is already waking up outside. I can hear the faint buzz of traffic and smell fresh bread drifting up from the bakery downstairs. It mixes with the greasy ghost of last night’s pizza still clinging to my fingers. I stretch under the blanket Sophie and I shared. Every muscle aches from yesterday’s move. The blanket slides off and pools on the floor, soft and rumpled.Sophie is already awake. Her bright laughter floats in from the kitchen. The sound tugs me out of bed like a lifeline. I tug on an oversized hoodie. The fabric feels warm and loose against my skin. This place still feels foreign, but it’s starting to feel like mine.I pad barefoot into the kitchen. Sophie is dancing. A pop
In My Professor's Arms Moved In, Moved On
The morning sun pours through the bedroom window like liquid gold. It spills over the tangled sheets and turns Sophie’s curly hair into a wild halo. She’s still half-asleep, making the softest little snoring sounds that always make me smile.I lie there for a second, just watching her. The air smells like her vanilla perfume mixed with the promise of fresh coffee. I can already hear the mugs clinking in the kitchen. My bare feet hit the cool hardwood as I slide out of bed. I tug on an oversized sweater. The wool brushes my skin and feels like armor against the tiny ache José left behind.Sophie stirs. She stretches like a cat, arms high, back arched, and then her eyes pop open. That grin of hers could power the entire city. “Rise and shine, new apartment day!” she sings, bouncing up. Her bare feet slap the floor as she follows me to the kitchen.I start the coffee. The machine gurgles and hisses, filling the room with that rich, dark scent that makes every
In My Professor's Arms Sleepover Rules
The front door flies open with a dramatic bang. Sophie bursts in before she even crosses the threshold. She brings the whole outside world with her. Sunlight seems to cling to her skin, and the sweet vanilla of her perfume mixes with the crisp autumn breeze. That scent slices straight through the heavy, stale air I’ve been trapped in all morning. My apartment has felt like a tomb for hours. Now it suddenly feels alive again.She shrugs off her bright red coat in one fluid motion. The heavy wool lands across the back of the couch like a flag of victory. Her curly hair bounces wildly with every step. It frames her grinning face like a chaotic halo. I swipe at my cheeks quickly. The tears from earlier have dried into sticky tracks. I force a smile as her energy yanks me upright. It feels like a lifeline tossed across dark water.The clock on the wall reads just past noon. Sunlight pours through the window and warms the room in golden patches. Sophie plops down beside
In My Professor's Arms Permanent Goodbyes
Sunlight sneaks through the bedroom curtains in thin, golden stripes. It lands across the tangled sheets and warms the places where José’s body used to be. I wake slowly, skin flushed from a night that never quite let me sleep. The air still holds his cologne. Woody, warm, stubborn. It clings to his pillow and to me. I breathe it in one last time, then stretch. My joints pop. My muscles protest. Everything feels heavy with what we said last night.The other side of the bed is cool. He’s already up. The clock glows 7:12 in soft red numbers. From the kitchen comes the clatter of pans and the low scrape of a spatula against iron. The sounds pull me upright. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. The hardwood floor greets my bare feet with a chill that climbs straight up my spine. I’m wearing one of his old oversized tees. It brushes the tops of my thighs and smells faintly of detergent and him. I pad toward the noise, the breakup talk echoing in my skull like a song I can’t
In My Professor's Arms All the Closure
Night presses against the windows like a thick, velvet curtain. The city outside keeps blinking through the half-closed blinds. Thin blades of neon cut across the living-room floor and paint everything in restless blue and gold. The air still carries the ghost of pizza we demolished hours ago. Grease, oregano, and the sour edge of cold coffee cling to every breath. I sit curled on the couch, leather sticking to the backs of my bare thighs. My fingers keep worrying the hem of my old T-shirt. The cotton is soft but soaked with nervous sweat at the small of my back.José stands by the window. His tall frame blocks half the light, turning him into a sharp silhouette. One hand rests on the glass. His fingertips tap out a nervous, uneven beat. The sound is soft but impossible to ignore. The television murmurs in the corner. Whatever movie we started is long forgotten, muted after he said those quiet, loaded words: “We really should talk about that.” They still float in the air be
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