After the stream ended, the noisy night quieted down.

The live-streaming light that was on just now has been turned off, and the version of myself on the screen has disappeared. Only the faint glow from my phone occasionally lighting up reminds me that I am still waiting for a message from someone.

This afternoon, he sent a photo he took while on a business trip.

In the photo, he is standing on a street in an unfamiliar city, his smile carving deep laugh lines on his face.

His shoulders are broad and solid, with the tension of muscles subtly visible beneath his shirt.

I stared at that photo for a long time, unable to stop imagining what it would be like if we actually met.

Maybe on some evening, we would walk together along a path covered in fallen leaves. I accidentally step into empty space, my body slightly losing balance, and he instinctively reaches out to steady me.

Those large hands rest on my arm. Just for a few short seconds, yet enough for me to remember his warmth.

We walk shoulder to shoulder, continuing forward. Neither of us is in a hurry to create distance, as if getting just a little closer would let our hidden feelings be seen.

The night slowly deepens, the park’s streetlights dim and suggestive.

We sit on a bench, chatting about today’s work. He talks about the recent difficulties he’s faced and the troubles only he can handle.

Although I cannot truly participate in his world, I still can’t help but look up at him. My ears listen closely to his low voice, his prominent Adam’s apple, the rhythm of his breathing, and the subtle scent of his cologne—making me afraid he might hear my restless heartbeat.

In that moment, what fascinates me is not just his appearance, but the composure in his speech, the confidence when handling matters, and the occasional glimpse of fatigue.

Our arms lightly touch. No one moves away.

His voice is lower than usual, yet my gaze falls on his palms.

Would those hands be just as gentle yet powerful as in this fantasy?

I want him to come closer. I want to feel his warmth, to know if I can still stay calm when he touches me.

At two in the morning, there is only me in the room.

The phone screen lights up again.

I hold my breath and see his name appear in the notification bar.

“Still awake?”

I look at those words, and the corners of my mouth slowly lift.

In the room at two in the morning, the fantasy has not yet ended.

And I still have no intention of going to sleep.

#EroticLiterature #Luna #BigBreasts

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