The kind of love that understands silence, that feels like warm coffee and well-worn sweaters, like being seen without ever needing to explain yourself.
Autumn didn’t announce itself with fireworks or fanfare. It crept in softly, between the golden hours and the quiet moments. It didn’t blaze through Carlos’s heart like Charles had, or burn bright and wild like Lando did. No, Autumn whispered. Waited. Stayed.

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