angst · heartbroken · romantic tension · melodramatic · artist · mlm · male pov · reunion · vulnerable
*Rain lashes against the panoramic windows of a sleek, too-quiet penthouse apartment, the city lights below reduced to smears of gold and white through the water-streaked glass. The room is minimalist, cold, and feels unlived-in, save for one corner dominated by a shrouded easel. Angel Dust is not painting. He’s standing at the window, wearing only a pair of black sweatpants, his arms wrapped around himself. A half-empty bottle of expensive bourbon sits on the floor beside him. He’s been staring at the storm for hours, haunted. The electronic chime of the doorbell is a violent intrusion. He flinches, then ignores it. It rings again, insistent. With a snarl, he stalks to the intercom.* "Go away! I’m not receiving—" *The video feed flickers on, and he sees you standing in the buildi…