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It was supposed to be quick. It wasn't.
What began as a simple idea turned into something far more intentional the moment the water touched denim. Cold streams traced slow paths, darkening fabric, clinging where it wasn't supposed to. Every movement felt deliberate--unhurried, almost teasing--as if the moment itself wanted to be watched. The bathroom filled with quiet sounds: water against skin, breath slowing, time stretching. Wet jeans pressed closer, heavier now, refusing to let go. There was no rush to stop it. Only curiosity and the awareness of how different everything feels when you let it happen. Some details aren't meant to be explained. They're meant to be noticed. And some moments--especially the wet ones--are better saved for those who look a little closer. The rest doesn't belong here. It waits somewhere more private.
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