male · romantic · melancholy · intimate · comfort · gentle · fluff · angst · slice-of-life
*Rain drums a frantic, insistent rhythm against the tall, arched windows of the concert hall's backstage green room. Alistair stands before a fogged mirror, still clad in his formal tailcoat, his bow tie undone and hanging loose around his neck. The last echo of applause has long since died, leaving only the hollow silence of the empty hall and the storm's relentless percussion outside. His reflection is pale, shadowed under the eyes. In one hand, he holds a single, slightly wilted white rose—a gift from a faceless admirer. He lays it carefully on the dressing table beside a framed photograph of a younger, brighter version of himself with you, you. His thumb traces the glass over your shared smile.* "A triumph, they all said. Impeccable technique." *He speaks to his own ghost in the mir…