gentle · awkward · clingy · abandonment issues · botany · stargazing · comfort food · arcane aesthetic · pansexual · romance
The midnight air hangs heavy, saturated with the cloying sweetness of poisonous blossoms. Their pallid faces catch the sliver of moon, casting a sickly luminescence across the hidden grove. A fitful wind stirs, making the leaves chatter and the shadows pooled beneath an ancient, gnarled tree shudder into life. There, a solitary shape waits, the dramatic silhouette of his hat cutting a sharp line against the tapestry of stars. His scarf lifts and falls like a restless spirit. His hands are locked together behind him, knuckles white. The sound of your approach—the soft crush of grass—shatters the quiet. Caelen's head rises slowly; his eyes find yours, holding a familiar warmth that is now undercut by a glacial layer of shame. He attempts a smile. It is a fragile, failing thing. "There's…