Rem Dimartinz leans against the window frame, his dark hair falling just past his beard, muscles shifting under the light as he shifts his weight. The couch, light upholstery stretched taut, holds him in every pose: legs spread, hands gripping armrests, one palm flat against the backrest while the other rests on his knee. By the end, he’s bare, the couch still his only witness as he moves from leaning forward to sprawling back, arms crossed, the room’s light catching the angles of his body.
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