The room was a canvas painted in muted tones, dimly lit by the waning light that seeped through the tattered curtains. Shadows danced across the walls, the remnants of twilight casting faint, uneven patterns.
Ashen's chest heaved, the weight of exhaustion pulling him into a fitful haze. Every breath felt labored, as though the air itself was laden with an invisible heaviness.
"So heavy…" the thought came unbidden, surfacing from the murky depths of his scattered consciousness. His muscles felt as though they were weighed down by chains, his body unwilling to obey even the simplest of commands.
A strange warmth enveloped him, unfamiliar yet oddly soothing. It pressed against him, comforting and disconcerting in equal measure.
Ashen's eyes fluttered open, the world around him a blur of muted shapes and colors. His mind was sluggish, his thoughts struggling to piece together the events that had led to this moment.
Slowly, the memory of the shadowy figure began to take shape, but it was fragmented, elusive—a silhouette slipping through his grasp.
"So warm…" he thought, the sensation grounding him as his senses stirred to life. The warmth wasn't abstract; it was physical, palpable, and pressed firmly against him. As his vision cleared, the haze began to recede, replaced by a startling clarity.
Above him, a figure emerged from the dim light—a woman, her presence both arresting and surreal. She lay sprawled across him, her body draped in effortless grace. The soft glow of twilight kissed her skin, illuminating her like a painting come to life.
Her high cheekbones framed a face that was both delicate and striking, her features softened by the cascade of ebony locks tumbling over her shoulders.
The strands, tousled from sleep, shimmered faintly in the fading light, a dark waterfall that spilled across her back.
Her lips, full and slightly parted, bore the faintest hint of color, a flush that deepened the longer Ashen gazed. Her ivory complexion glowed with a warmth that mirrored the heat pressing against him.
In her early thirties, she radiated a mature allure—a blend of confidence and vulnerability that made her presence magnetic.
"So close…" The thought whispered through his mind, his heart stirring faintly in response. Her curves molded against him, her form unburdened by clothing and seeking solace in his own.
The intimacy of her touch was a shock to his senses, breaking through the remnants of fatigue that clung to him.
For a moment, Ashen could only stare, his thoughts a fragmented storm. Who was she? Why was she here?
A thousand questions swirled within him, but his body refused to respond, his limbs like lead beneath the weight of her.
The room seemed to shrink, the silence amplifying every detail—the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the warmth of her breath against his neck, the faint scent of jasmine clinging to her skin. Ashen's mind screamed for clarity, yet he found himself trapped in the surreal intimacy of the moment.
---
It had started with a thud. The sound echoed through the walls of the house, loud enough to rouse the woman from her restless evening.
She had been sitting at her kitchen table, lost in thought, when she heard it—a dull, heavy crash that seemed to reverberate with a sense of urgency.
Her name was Lin Yue, the wife of a man she barely recognized anymore. Her husband, once ambitious and loving, had grown cold, his insecurities over his job and relentless pressure leading to his impotence, thus poisoning their marriage.
She had long stopped trying to bridge the growing chasm between them. The loneliness had become a constant companion, an ache she carried in silence.
When she entered Eren's room, concern outweighed propriety. The boy—always so quiet, so unassuming—lay crumpled on the floor, his body feverish and trembling.
The sight sent a pang through her chest. She hesitated only for a moment before rushing to his side, her maternal instincts overriding any sense of awkwardness.
"Eren?" she whispered, shaking his shoulder gently. But his eyes remained shut, his breathing shallow. His skin burned beneath her touch, the heat radiating from him unnatural, almost suffocating.
With some effort, she hoisted his limp form onto the bed, her hands trembling as she adjusted the pillows beneath his head. The room was a mess—papers scattered, furniture overturned—but her focus remained on him. She fetched a damp cloth, pressing it to his forehead, her worry deepening with each passing minute.
Lin Yue couldn't bear the sight of the room in its current state—cluttered, suffocating, and a stark reflection of neglect. It didn't sit right with her. Eren, or rather the young man she barely knew, deserved a space that didn't feel so oppressively grim.
She began with the obvious: gathering the heaps of plastic trash scattered around the room, remnants of instant meals and hastily discarded packaging.
The waste was consuming what little space the room had, suffocating its potential to feel livable. She carried the bags out to the bins with a huff, her frustration ebbing away as the clutter disappeared.
The kitchen was her next challenge. The sink was overflowing with unwashed utensils, crusted food remnants forming a stubborn layer of grime.
She rolled up her sleeves, filling the basin with soapy water. Each dish she scrubbed felt like a step toward restoring some semblance of order.
Once the kitchen was clean, she returned to the room, wiping down surfaces and rearranging scattered belongings. By the time she was done, the space felt less like a prison and more like a home—at least to some extent.
It wasn't until she began straightening the bed that she noticed the cause of her discomfort: an overwhelming heat emanating from his lower body.
She froze, her attention pulled to the faint haze radiating off him. Her eyes widened, her gaze drawn to the unmistakable bulge straining against his trousers, like a giant mountain pushing against its confines.
Her breath hitched, her cheeks flushing as she tried to look away, but the magnetic heat seemed to pull her in.
Lin Yue's face flushed as she turned away, her mind racing. It had been years since she had felt a spark of desire, her marriage reduced to a hollow shell.
Her husband's bitterness had seeped into every corner of their lives, leaving her yearning for a connection she thought she would never find again.
But now, standing in the dim light of this room, she felt something stir within her—a longing she had buried beneath years of disappointment.