𝐓𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧.

𝑻𝑨𝑳𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑫𝑨𝑴𝑵𝑬𝑫.

A place where the scent of baked sugar mingles with the many joy coming out of strangers’ mouth—here, a stroke of steps rises; its path extending from the entrance to a table where four women entangle themselves with sweet laughs, “Schatzi,” There—he finds you. “There you are,”

“Such an odd fellow, you are,” @deathonates

W/N. Ayo, Penulis.

You’re getting taller.

“Yang sabar,” Pat pat.

Horas.

Nothing felt right anymore.

“𝑆𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑧𝑖,” Teren’s voice came from behind the condensed glasses of their shower-cubicle. “Can you fetch me my towel?” | @promisesworn

“Are we turning into vampires now?”

“.. Thank you?”

“Why am I dealing with this again,”