mwinor

[mwinor]

it seems to me that someone communicates with my bot every day. I like to go to my c.ai profile and see an increasing number there.

[mwinor]

Sorry.

⌗ angst, tragedy, healerAU, deathFic

word count: 470

note: yes

He comes at night. No robes, no healer’s face. Just a man—tired, broken, unable to say goodbye.

You hear the chair creak as he sinks into it beside you. He holds your hand—you barely feel the touch, but there’s warmth. Faint, like breath on a winter morning. He doesn’t speak right away. And you know—words cost him more now than any spell. More than the surgeries he performed while you were dying, millimeter by millimeter, every single day.

“I went over everything,” he says eventually. “Every protocol. Every theory. I even asked Malfoy, though he still doesn’t trust me. I begged the potionmasters, the artificers… even the ones in Azkaban. I would’ve sold my soul for another week with you. One more day. Two words.”

He grips your hand tighter than necessary. You would’ve said it hurts—if you could. But you don’t. And he goes on.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen to you. Not you, do you hear me? You were more alive than anyone I’ve ever known. You laughed like the war never touched you. You yelled at me when I skipped meals. You pulled on my tie when I got too technical.”

He cries. Quietly at first. Then harder. And there’s nothing dignified in that sound. It tears out of him like veins split open—not by healer’s knowledge, but by love. By helplessness. He clutches the edge of your bed, your fingers, anything that’s still “you.”

“You can’t go. I… I don’t know how to live without you. I don’t want to treat anyone else. I don’t want to wake up in a flat that still smells like you. I don’t want to survive knowing the only good thing I had died in this bed.”

He presses his forehead to your hand. No longer composed. His shoulders shake, wrecked.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t save you. That I wasn’t smarter. Braver. That I didn’t tell you sooner. That I acted like we had forever. I’m sorry that now I’m just… sitting here. Doing nothing.”

You look at him. No movement. No voice. Just your eyes. And he sees in them what you can’t say: I love you. He nods, choking back a sob.

“I know. I know. But God, I wanted to hear it. Just once. In your voice.”

The light in the room dims. Not in the lamps—but in you. He feels it. He knows what it means. And his own heart stills, just a beat behind yours. He cups your face, gently, as if it might shatter. Kisses your forehead.

“Please stay. Just a little longer. Just until I say the last word. Please…”

But you’re already gone.

He goes still. Drops to his knees.

And in the silence, all that’s left is his sobbing—singular, small, like a gunshot echoing through an empty world.

[mwinor]

“I dont want you to look at me and feel nothing.”

— Unknown

[mwinor]

if you wanna write something less boring maybe come up with the idea? instead of bashing user requests 💀 nobody’s making you take requests

THIS IS THE FIRST NEGATIVE LETTER IN MY DIRECTION, I will put it in a frame on the wall 😇🤍 thank youuuuuuu

[mwinor]

Why are users' ideas so boring? I don't want to write about a professor at a university and his student, I want to write something like, 'he's your doctor, and he has to tell you that you don't have much time left, while you're just a paralyzed body with no chance at a normal life.' I want more tears and drama.

Though honestly, it's still boring.

[mwinor]

School AU Headcanons with Theodore Nott

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Theodore Nott is that guy who doesn’t try to be the center of attention — but somehow ends up there anyway. Always dressed neatly but never flashy. There’s something quietly refined about him, like he was born in a coat and with sarcasm in his pocket.

Theodore Nott smart without the stress. Teachers respect him. Not because he’s a try-hard, but because he always knows what to say and when to say it. He doesn’t stress over tests, “I’ll either pass or find a way to talk my way through it.”

Theodore Nott will casually score three goals in PE, then shrug like it’s nothing. Coaches try to recruit him every semester. He always says no. “I’m not into uniforms or shouting.”

Theodore Nott will end up doing everything himself because he doesn’t trust people to get it right. Unless you’re in the group — then he’ll give you half the control without question. Trust is rare with him, but you’ve earned it.

Theodore Nott has the most organized chaos of a locker. There’s a book on psychology, gum, spare headphones, a mini first-aid kit, and a crumpled drawing he once made of you (but he’ll never admit that’s who it is).

Theodore Nott is surprisingly domestic. He’ll fix your broken phone case with superglue. He knows how to cook eggs five different ways. You once caught him ironing his shirt before school — shirtless, earbuds in, focused. It took you a minute to recover.

Theodore Nott has old-soul habits. Writes in pen. Hates texting. Loves real books. He has a chess app but prefers real boards. And sometimes he talks about the future like he already lived part of it.

Theodore Nott is the one who always remembers your schedule. You forget your locker combo? He remembers. That biology test you were nervous about? He brings you your favorite snack the morning of. You never told him the date — he just knew.

Theodore Nott’s handwriting is ridiculously neat. Not because he cares what people think—it’s just how he processes information. He claims messy notes. “give him anxiety.”

Theodore Nott is the kind of guy who remembers random facts forever. Ask him when the French Revolution started—he’ll know. Also knows weird facts like how jellyfish don’t have brains or that bananas are berries. It’s weirdly charming.

Theodore Nott doesn't need to be liked — but he is. Somehow, despite not trying to fit in, people respect him. Even those who say “he’s kind of weird” still want him on their project team or sit near him during lectures.

Theodore Nott doesn’t wear cologne — but still smells nice. It’s just his laundry detergent and something natural about him. Someone once asked what he wore and he just blinked and said, “Soap?”

Theodore Nott doodles in margins when bored — mostly patterns and geometric shapes. You once caught a tiny, perfect sketch of a raven in his notebook. When you complimented it, he just flipped the page without a word — but his ears turned red.

[mwinor]

Let’s make a bet

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⌗ friendship, cigarettes, bet, kissing

word count: 858

note: hmhmhmhmhmhm

The North Tower had always been our personal world. Where no one looked, no one cared, where it was just the wind, stone, and the whisper of dry leaves beyond the windows.

You were sitting on the wide windowsill, knees pulled up to your chest.

The sky outside was the color of wet concrete — heavy, low, almost pressing down on the world. The glass rattled from the gusts of wind. There was a distinct smell in the air — dampness, dust... and the faint trace of old tobacco, so familiar, almost comforting.

Theo stood by the wall, absentmindedly flipping a lighter between his fingers.

The flame would flicker and die, throwing quick shadows across his face.

“We should quit,” you said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Theo raised an eyebrow lazily.

“You? Quit?”

“What, you think I can't?” you shot back, defensive.

He tilted his head back, laughing quietly, looking at the cracked ceiling.

“I’m just being realistic.”

You pouted, shoving your cigarette back into the pack.

“Let’s make a bet.”

He looked at you with mild interest, his eyes half-lidded.

“What's the wager?”

“Whoever gives in first owes the other a favor.”

Theo was quiet for a moment, studying you like he could already see you losing. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“Alright. But no nasty stuff. I'm not running naked through Hogwarts, got it?”

You snorted.

“As if anyone wants to see that.”

He grinned wickedly.

“Lying’s a sin, you know.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically.

“Shut up. Deal or not?”

“Deal.”

You smacked your palm against his, feeling the warmth of his skin, the strength in his fingers — and for some reason, that fleeting contact made your chest flutter strangely.

∘₊✧────────────✧₊∘

Three days.

You lasted three damn days.

And now — here you were again, the North Tower, your cigarette trembling between your fingers. You hated yourself a little.

“Just one... Last one...”

The lighter flared. For a moment, your anxious face was caught in the shaky orange light.

Then — footsteps.

You froze like a deer in headlights.

“Well, well...” Theo’s voice carried through the empty tower — low, smug, and way too amused.

You turned your head slowly. He was standing in the doorway, arms folded, wearing that insufferable look of knowing he'd won before you'd even realized it yourself.

“Fuck,” you whispered under your breath and quickly stubbed the cigarette out on the windowsill.

Theo started walking towards you — slow, deliberate steps that somehow seemed to make the entire room close in around you.

“So... you lost?” he said casually.

“Technically... I just...” you started weakly.

“You lost,” he interrupted, smirking.

You groaned and ran a hand through your hair.

“Fine. What do you want? Make it quick. And... reasonable.”

He tilted his head, pretending to think, savoring the moment. Then he gave you a grin that made your stomach twist.

“Kiss me.”

You blinked. Once. Twice.

“You’re joking.”

“Not even a little bit,” he said smoothly.

He took a step closer. Then another.

The closer he got, the more your back pressed itself against the cold stone behind you.

“Theo, come on, seriously-”

“Dead serious,” he murmured.

Another step. He was so close now that you could feel the heat of him, smell the lingering traces of smoke and something unmistakably him.

“You can’t be serious."

He leaned one hand against the wall beside your head, boxing you in without touching you.

“What?” he said, voice low. “Shy?”

“I’m not shy,” you said quickly, too quickly.

“Then what’s the problem?” he whispered.

You opened your mouth to snap back, but nothing came out. His eyes were locked on yours, calm, challenging — like he wasn’t asking, but daring you. Your heart thundered against your ribs.

The air between you was electric, heavy, impossible to breathe. You exhaled shakily.

“Fine,” you muttered, your voice rough with nerves.

You rose onto your toes, grabbed the collar of his shirt, and pulled him down.

You kissed him.

At first it was just a brush of lips — hesitant, testing. But then he leaned in, deepening it. The kiss turned rough, desperate — a mess of clashing mouths and short, stolen breaths. His hand found your waist, pulling you closer, his thumb grazing the bare skin under your sweater.

You lost track of everything. The Tower disappeared. Time disappeared.

There was only Theo. His mouth on yours, his warmth against the cold stone, the way his fingers dug slightly into your side like he wasn’t ready to let you go.

Panic finally snapped you out of it.

You pulled away sharply, gasping for breath.

“That’s it! Done! Bye!” you blurted out, voice way too loud and too high.

You turned and bolted for the stairs, your boots clattering noisily against the stone, your heart pounding a hundred miles an hour.

“Stupid bet!” you yelled over your shoulder. “We’re never doing that again, Nott!”

Behind you, in the empty Tower, you barely heard his soft, low chuckle following you like smoke.

You rounded the corner, slammed your back against the cool wall, and covered your burning face with your hands.

What. The. Hell. Was. That.

[mwinor]

My character.ai

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It’s me: mwinor

My bots:

Theodore Nott

Best friend

He is so serious and smart…

So dumb…

Unexpected help.

The other:

The Pharaoh is interested in you.

Your… bf.

[mwinor]

NSFW Headcanons with Theodore Nott

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note: all for you, my cuties. 18+

Theodore Nott likes to keep things under control. He won’t allow you to take the lead or act without his instruction. He might sit behind you, slide his hand around your neck, and whisper right into your ear: “Don’t move unless I say so.” And just like that, you feel yourself getting wet from one sentence.

Theodore Nott is obsessed with choking. For him, it’s a form of art. A deeper kind of pleasure. The way his fingers wrap around your delicate, fragile throat while you whimper under his thrusts—drives him completely mad.

Theodore Nott can be teasing or serious. It depends. If he’s in a bad mood—brace yourself. He’ll be rough, quiet, and bite you hard enough to leave proof.

Theodore Nott never plans your intimate moments. They just happen. While you’re working on a paper, during a casual pillow fight, while you’re cleaning. His desire alone is enough of a reason to have you.

Theodore Nott isn’t picky about locations. Anywhere in this massive castle is fair game. The common room’s empty tonight? The couch is perfect. Malfoy left his room unlocked and went to Hogsmeade for the day? That bed will do just fine. The west tower’s abandoned? Even better.

Theodore Nott loves your tears—even if it sounds insane. When a salty drop slides down your cheek from the force of his thrusts, his eyes darken, and his tongue lazily licks it away, like it's something sweet he’s claimed.

Theodore Nott is usually silent when aroused. But you can hear the way his breath stutters. The way he exhales your name, rough and quiet, like he’s trying not to lose himself completely.

Theodore Nott savors the time after. He wraps himself around you from behind, buries his face in your hair, breathing steady—like he can only relax once you’re in his arms. Sometimes, he whispers out of nowhere: “You have no idea how much you break me.”

Theodore Nott loves pressure. Pressing you against walls, looming over you, gripping your wrists or your face—forcing you to look into his eyes as he takes you slow. No rush. No sound. Just your shallow breathing and his whispered orders… “No.” he murmurs, biting down on your neck. “Tonight, you’re going to feel every second.”

Theodore Nott moans quietly—but filthy—when you moan his name. Especially when you scratch his back and whisper in his ear: “Theo… please…” He shuts his eyes and whispers back: “Louder. I want you to lose your voice. I want you speechless—except when you’re silent beside me.”

Theodore Nott is extremely tactile. Afterwards, he always keeps a hand on you. Around your throat. On your stomach. Between your thighs. Like he needs to feel that you’re still his. Sometimes he caresses you—not sweetly, but lazily. Possessively. “Just like that… quiet. I’m not giving you to anyone else.”

[mwinor]

She’s just helping. He’s just… watching.

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⌗ ancient egypt au, pharaoh x scribe, pharaoh!ThedooreNott historical fantasy, soft, unspoken feelings

word count: 613

note: again? I think there will be smth else later. no, I promise!

Quiet, without his entourage, without announcement. Just the sound of soft footsteps, the faint scent of incense, the rustle of fine linen—and you already knew it was him.

The Pharaoh.

Theodor.

“I need your knowledge again,” he said, leaning casually against a shelf like the library was his private chamber.

You didn’t flinch. Just nodded and returned to the scrolls, fingers moving carefully—gently, like a healer tending to veins.

He watched you. Too closely.

“You shouldn’t come here so often,” you said calmly. “People might start to suspect that the Pharaoh cares more for texts than for power.”

Theo smirked.

“Don’t you like that I care about what you keep?”

Your brow furrowed slightly, eyes never leaving the scrolls.

“I like when people read. Doesn’t matter who they are.”

Theodor stepped closer, not waiting for an invitation, and spoke low—nearly a whisper:

“Not everything I come for is written down.”

You glanced sideways at him.

“I can bring you more on astrology. Or translations. Or—”

“No, no,” he interrupted gently, now very close. “I want something you’ve read. Something you remember. Something you love.”

You paused for a moment, as if flipping through a mental catalog of knowledge.

“Hm… there are some poems from the time of Amenhotep. They’re rarely read. Very… personal.”

Theo leaned in, their faces nearly aligned.

“Personal is perfect.”

You didn’t understand. Not the tone, not the look. You took it all literally — as always.

“All right. I’ll make you a list. They might help with your... internal unrest.”

He let out a soft chuckle.

“And what if you are my internal unrest?”

You blinked.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he waved it off. “Tell me about the records you brought.”

You laid the scrolls out on the low table. Theo sat beside you, resting on one knee, not looking at the text — but at your lips as you explained the meanings of the ancient symbols.

Your fingers moved gently across the lines, your voice focused, even.

“This symbol — the eye surrounded by a serpent — it means protection and hidden feelings. It often appears in the writings of priests who speak of forbidden love.”

He leaned in closer.

“And who do you think such feelings are usually hidden from?”

You answered without a hint of irony:

“Usually — from the Pharaoh. Or from the gods. Or… from oneself.”

Theo smiled, a little bitterly.

“Interesting. And you — can you hide your feelings?”

“Of course. Even I’m a scribe, not an actress. Though… I don’t always succeed. Sometimes people read me like a book.”

He met you gaze.

“Don’t worry. I read slowly. So I don’t miss anything important.”

You didn’t reply.

Just kept organizing the scrolls — unaware that he wasn’t speaking of the papyrus at all.

After a while, he stood again, adjusting his cloak, and stepped toward the door.

“Thank you… for your help. And for being you.”

You nodded, a little confused.

“Do you always thank your scribes like this?”

He lingered at the threshold.

“Only the ones who make me want to come back.”

You blinked.

“You speak in riddles.”

Theo laughed as he left:

“And you still read everything literally.”

You was alone again. Looked at the scrolls. At the door. Shook your head.

“He’s strange. Smart. Impossible. And he stands way too close when he talks.”

You didn’t even realize you was smiling.

[mwinor]

[mwinor]

He Wasn't Supposed to Be Here

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⌗ au!AncientEgypt, pharaoh!TheodoreNott, flirting, soft

word count: 680

note: this is my first sketch of Egypt, but not the last. Wait for more, kids.

The Pharaoh does not visit the library — not directly.

That’s what priests, advisors, and scribes are for.

But today, something restless gnawed at him.

For several nights now, he’d seen the same symbol in his dreams — the Eye of Horus turned toward the moon, and a heart pierced by the feather of Ma’at.

Theodor didn’t know what it meant, but the feeling was persistent.

It haunted him.

He wanted to know everything — from the meaning of the dreams to the roles of gods in mortal lives.

He entered the library of the Ramesseum late in the evening, when most had already left the hall. To avoid any stir, he had to hide his face beneath a hood, wearing a light cloak over his bare body.

The library was almost empty — except for one person.

You.

Your figure remained between the columns, bent over a collection of scrolls. Your hair was braided and pinned at the nape of your neck, and you wore the simple garb of a scribe. The light from an oil lamp cast dancing shadows across your face.

Theodor was about to leave, unnoticed — when you spoke, without lifting your head:

— Do you need something, sir?

He froze.

At first, he hadn’t been sure you’d seen him.

That’s what surprised him most.

— I… I’m just looking around, — he said hoarsely, a little embarrassed by how quickly he’d been noticed.

You raised your head. Your gaze was direct, but not defiant.

— In this library, every sound echoes like the breath of the gods. It’s hard to go unnoticed. Even for a Pharaoh.

He fell silent.

You knew.

Damn.

And yet your voice didn’t tremble. There was no fear. Only… a spark of curiosity. Maybe even a hint of play.

— Who are you? — he asked.

— Just a scribe, — you replied. — So? Do you need something?

Theodor hesitated. He wasn’t sure if he should tell you about the dream, or lie and say he was inspecting the library’s work.

But curiosity won over him.

— I need to understand a dream.

You smirked and walked over to a nearby shelf.

Pulling out a scroll, you returned and handed it to him.

— If you want to understand dreams, you have to read between the lines. Not in prophecies, but in forgotten notes.

He didn’t take the scroll immediately.

Theodor looked at you — too long to be proper. You didn’t look away. The only sound in the room was the rustling of palm trees beyond the windows. The lamp crackled softly. Time stopped.

— What is this? — he asked at last.

— The dream records of a priest. He wrote them like poetry. I thought you might find it… relevant.

— You collect dream-poems? — he asked, a trace of a smile in his voice.

— I keep anything that might be forgotten. And sometimes, dreams are the only things worth remembering.

He stepped closer. You didn’t move.

Theodor took the scroll, but his fingers brushed against yours. Warm skin. Soft. You didn’t pull away, but your brows lifted slightly.

A wordless question.

And he answered — not with words, but with his eyes.

“You feel it too?”

And as if you’d heard him, you slowly looked away.

— What’s your name? — Theodor asked.

— Names don’t matter, — you said softly, almost in a whisper. — I serve knowledge.

— Then at least tell me… who taught you to see words like that?

— Lord Djehuty, — you replied without a smile, though your eyes gleamed. — Or perhaps the darkness between the lines itself.

He laughed quietly.

— That’s poetic.

— It’s contagious, — you said, tilting your head just slightly.

Theodor looked at you for a moment longer, then stepped back, scroll in hand.

But before leaving, he said:

— I’ll return.

— I’m always here, — you replied, giving a soft wave. — Among shadows and scrolls.

He knew he’d return.

He’d have to return — or go mad with curiosity.

[mwinor]

Theodore Nott and romantic relationship

Theodore Nott notices the smallest details—how you move, what you fixate on, which topics make your eyes light up. Even if you never say it out loud, he’ll remember what you like and what you can’t stand.

Theodore Nott he keeps his distance in public, acting reserved and composed. But when you’re alone, it’s different—lazy smiles, lingering touches, fingers brushing over your wrist just a second too long.

Theodore Nott isn’t the type to cause a scene or get into fights, but if someone hurts you, they’ll regret it. He’ll handle it quietly, without witnesses. Maybe that person will start feeling uneasy whenever Theo is around. Maybe they’ll suddenly run into unexpected problems. Theodore does not tolerate people who hurt the ones he cares about.

Theodore Nott struggles to talk about his feelings. For him, admitting emotions is a battle. He avoids the topic as much as possible because feelings make him vulnerable, and he hates feeling weak. But if he ever tells you he loves you, know that it’s not just words—it’s something deep, something he’s fought with himself to say.

Theodore Nott loves intellectual conversations. Small talk doesn’t interest him. If he engages you in deep discussions about books, history, or philosophy, it’s one of his ways of showing you that you matter to him.

Theodore Nott has a hard time trusting. After everything he’s been through with his family, trust doesn’t come easily. Even if he loves you, there will always be a quiet fear in the back of his mind, a deep-rooted belief that people leave. It takes time for him to truly accept that you won’t.

Theodore Nott won’t start fights over jealousy, but he notices when someone else is interested in you. His jealousy comes through in sharp, cutting remarks, in an intense stare at the person in question, or in subtle actions—like suddenly standing just a little closer to you than usual.

Theodore Nott doesn’t like people touching him, but when it’s you, it’s different. Your touch soothes him, though he’d never admit it out loud.

Theodore Nott never says anything he doesn’t mean. If he makes a promise, he keeps it. No matter what, Theo follows through on his word. And if he says you’re important to him—he means it, without a doubt.

[mwinor]

….SORRY I NEED IT.

Writing is hard, so are my nipples when I see theodore nott :(

[mwinor]

I don’t want you to change

⌗ angst, drama, unrequited love

word count: 793

note: I'm sorry, this is in honor of my favorite day of the year. I am waiting for your ideas! I really want to write smth bout your request again.

The corridors of Hogwarts were particularly lively that day—laughter echoed through the halls, golden sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting long, warm patches of light across the stone floors. The castle always felt different when spring came, as if it was shaking off the cold and filling itself with life again.

You felt that change in the air, too. Everything about today had been good—the classes weren’t too exhausting, your friends had made you laugh over lunch, and even the normally tedious homework seemed a little more manageable. It was just one of those rare, uncomplicated days.

And then you saw Theodore Nott.

He was waiting near the far wall, away from the larger groups of students. His posture was as closed-off as ever—arms crossed over his chest, gaze fixed on the floor, expression unreadable. He always had a way of looking like he was thinking too much, like his mind was a step ahead of everyone else’s.

You smiled as you walked up to him, the easy mood of the day still clinging to you.

— Theo! — you greeted brightly. — You said you wanted to see me. What’s up?

He looked up at you then, his dark eyes unreadable, scanning your face carefully. For a second, he didn’t say anything. It was unlike him to hesitate—Theodore was sharp, deliberate. He never spoke without a purpose.

— Yeah, — he said finally. His voice was quieter than usual. — I wanted to talk to you.

Something in the way he said it made your stomach drop slightly.

— About what?

There was a brief pause.

— About us.

The easy lightness of the moment shattered.

You felt it in the way your body stiffened, in the sudden shift in the air between you. The words took a moment to register.

He sighed, running a hand over his face like he was trying to work through something in his head. And then he finally said it.

— I love you.

The world blurred for a second.

Your heart skipped a beat, and a strange, overwhelming silence filled your ears. You opened your mouth, but no words came out. You weren’t even sure what you were trying to say.

You had never expected this. Not from him.

Your gaze flickered away from his.

And that was enough.

You could almost hear the shift in his breathing, the way his body tensed. He understood immediately.

— Why? — he asked, his voice quiet but unwavering.

Your throat felt tight. You knew this moment would be difficult, but you hadn’t realized it would feel like this—like walking across ice that could crack at any second.

— Theo… — you hesitated, then finally exhaled and forced yourself to say it. — We’re just different. We have different personalities, different views on life.

He let out a breath—sharp, almost like a laugh, but there was no humor in it.

— That doesn’t mean anything, — he said, his voice darker now. — People can be different and still belong together.

You shook your head, looking down.

— Not always.

— But why not? — he pressed. He took a step closer, and his presence suddenly felt heavier, more intense. His dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with something you couldn’t quite place—something desperate, something raw. — I’d do anything for you. I’d change if I have to. I already—

He stopped abruptly, his hands clenching at his sides.

Your chest ached.

— I don’t want you to change, Theo, — you whispered.

That was the worst part of all of this. You liked him. He had always been someone you admired—his intelligence, the way he carried himself, the sharpness of his mind. But you knew, deep down, that love couldn’t be built on admiration alone.

And you couldn’t give him what he wanted.

— I’m right for you, — he said slowly, carefully. — You just don’t see it.

You swallowed hard.

— Theo…

— No, — his voice turned sharper, frustration breaking through. — I love you.

The words came out heavier this time, filled with something more than just emotion. It was anger, it was pain, it was everything he had tried to keep buried.

And still, you said nothing.

Because there was nothing left to say.

The silence between you was unbearable.

For a long moment, he just stood there, staring at you. And then, finally, he exhaled, something in his expression hardening.

— Got it, — he muttered, his voice empty.

And then he turned and walked away.

He didn’t look back.

You stood there, frozen, the weight of everything sinking in as his figure disappeared down the corridor.

You had done the right thing.

So why did it feel so heavy?

[mwinor]

wawawawawwawawa