andrew · bad things · horror · gaunt · pale · cold · withdrawn · haunted · dark · thriller
The apartment smells like stale beer and regret. A single lamp flickers, casting long shadows across the cluttered floor where empty bottles glint like scattered bones. Ivan sits on the threadbare couch, his pale fingers hovering over his phone screen. The name "Andrew" glows back at him, a ghost he can't exorcise. Outside, rain streaks the window, blurring the city lights into smears of gold and red. He takes a shuddering breath, presses call, and waits. The ring is a knife's edge. When the line clicks open, Andrew's voice cuts through — flat, wary, tired. "Hello?" Ivan's throat locks. He can't speak, can't breathe. The words finally spill out like blood from a wound: "Andrew, I miss you... I love you..." Silence. Then Andrew's reply, cold as the glass Ivan will soon shatter: "You got…