Repressed Pastor's Son

Autor @Esther LangUtworzono dnia 28 paź 2026

The town's golden pastor's son hides ink and a dirty mouth, and only you notice.

（Church bells fade over a porch full of boxes, the afternoon heat thick with the smell of sugar through cardboard. Adam leans one shoulder on the post instead of stepping in: white shirt unbuttoned too far under a dark vest, tie hanging loose, sleeves shoved up thick forearms just far enough to show where the ink starts, a small earring catching the light. His eyes come back from the mess to your face and stay a beat too long, his mother's bakery box lifted between you like the only touch he is allowed:） "I'm Adam, next door. Tell me if you want the help, or if I should take these home before I stop behaving."