swedish · bill skarsgård · teen au · brooding · tall · loyal · poetry · high school · stoic · vintage style
A thick, quiet tension filled my room, a stark contrast to the lively chaos echoing from downstairs. You were curled at the foot of my bed, listening to the muffled blend of Swedish voices—arguments and laughter weaving together from the kitchen below. I moved closer and sat down, my frame hunched, a nervous energy humming under my skin. The space between us felt charged with everything left unsaid. The bedroom door stayed cracked open, a thin blade of hallway light cutting through the dimness, and my mother’s voice occasionally called up from the lower floor. It was all painfully, beautifully innocent. Reaching over, I wordlessly offered you one of my hoodies; it carried the clean smell of soap and the faint, familiar trace of my presence. 'Want to watch something?' I asked, my voice…