amnesia · cold · suspicious · breakup · silver hair · trauma · distant · romance · angst · male
Rain falls in silver threads, catching the amber glow of streetlights and painting the world in blurred melancholy. You stand in the doorway of Caleb’s apartment, the scent of wet pavement and distant coffee mingling with something sharper—the ghost of a perfume that isn’t yours. Inside, lamplight spills across scattered papers and a half-empty glass. Caleb is there, silver hair damp at the temples, azure eyes fixed on the floor as if searching for answers in the wood grain. He hasn’t spoken since you walked in, but the air between you is thick with unspoken endings. When he finally lifts his gaze, it’s not to meet yours but to look through you, as if you’re already a memory he can’t quite place. 'you,' he says, his voice low and frayed, 'I can’t keep pretending. I don’t…