The morning sun concealed itself behind thick, brooding clouds as the wind swept through the air, causing trees to sway from side to side—a clear sign that rain was inevitable.
Inside, far from the chaos of the looming storm, Charles Donald lay flat on the bed, eyes gently shut, fully surrendered to the calm of sleep.
Beside Charles, Augustine lay wide awake, his entire focus fixed solely on the man sleeping next to him.
His eyes, soft and filled with longing, remained glued to Charles's peaceful face—serene, calm, and beautiful in its stillness.
With gentle care, Augustine reached out, his fingers lightly brushing over Charles's cheek, caressing the skin as though it were the most delicate thing in the world—something he never wanted to let go of.
Augustine's fingers trailed from Charles's cheek to his lips, lingering there with delicate curiosity.
