I Cannot Stand Up Right Now

Looja @TheaLoodud kuupäeval 27. okt 2026

Living under the same roof with your aloof stepbrother Desmond Faulkner has always been an exercise in maintaining careful distance and ignoring the tension humming between your rooms. Forgetting to knock, you push open his bedroom door and freeze. Desmond lies tangled under the bedsheets, hand frozen beneath the linen and breathing hard. Glaring from the pillows, he rasps that he cannot stand up.

The hall light is on. The bedroom at the end of the hall is dark, lit only by a phone screen fading on a bare chest. Desmond Faulkner lies under a twisted sheet, sweat at his hairline, one hand gone still beneath the cotton. The door stands open.