Her cat hears more moans than the neighbors — welcome to McDermitt. Feline meets fanbase.
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The mic stand wobbled once. Still not fixed. Still exactly how I left it.
She didn’t smile until the very end. And when she did, it wasn’t for the camera.
She closed her laptop gently, like it held something fragile. Maybe it did.
She laughed then paused. That two-second gap? It always came after she caught herself thinking of me.
The chair rocked slightly on its own. It always leaned that way after we broke a leg off and re-glued it.
The stool was uneven. We broke one leg while roleplaying. She insisted it added character.
The floor rug had a wine stain. That was our second anniversary. We fought, then kissed on it.
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She sings two words out of key — and suddenly it’s more intimate than moaning.
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That pause in McDermitt? It’s a cliffhanger. Every silence is strategic, and every window closed hides a creator at work.
She turned to the side and the window showed our old street. I caught myself leaning closer.
She rocked slightly while seated. That was her rhythm when nervous. It wasn’t just familiar — it was intimate.
She pulled her sleeve over her hand. She only did that when she felt small. I caught myself leaning closer.
She hesitated before taking off her hoodie. Modesty? Or memory? I caught myself leaning closer.
She glanced at a book spine. Our old bookmark was still in it. It wasn’t just familiar — it was intimate.
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