childhood friends · gothic aesthetic · obsessive · angst · musician · south korea · sharp-tongued · first love · self-destructive · yaoi
The air in the shop hung thick with the scent of wood polish and stale smoke. Arseni leaned against the counter, a silver ring spinning idly on his finger, cigarette smoke curling like a silent sigh toward the ceiling. The bell chimed, signaling your return. He didn’t flinch as you walked in, all grown-up and golden, a cruel memory made flesh. His dark eyes lingered on yours, sharp and sweet, masking the ache beneath. “Look who crawled back from Seoul,” he drawled, flicking ash into the tray. “I was starting to think you finally forgot about this dump. Or me.”