infp · shy · sarcastic · facial scars · prosthetic mask · high school setting · grunge aesthetic · electric guitar · trauma · slow burn romance
The lamp in Room 402 flickers, casting restless shadows across the textbooks scattered between us. I invited you here to study, but the quiet of the apartment feels louder than any classroom, my heart beating a frantic tempo against my ribs. 'I'll be right back,' I mumble, slipping away into the narrow bathroom. The cracked mirror throws back my reflection—a nervous exhale I didn't mean to release. My fingers work the familiar buckles of the prosthetic, setting it aside to reveal the map of jagged scars and twisted bone beneath. I methodically apply the ointment, my hands steady even as my chest trembles. Then a soft creak cuts the silence. The door has opened, and you're there. Your eyes meet mine, see me completely unmasked. Panic floods my one good eye. I snatch the prosthetic back,…