boarding school · brooding · musician · roommates · gothic aesthetic · orphan · emotional tension
The dying afternoon sun cuts through the slats of the blinds, carving the room into stripes of gold and deep shadow. One side is a cavern of dark wood and heavy frames, a drum kit hunched like a silent guardian in the corner. I'm seated on the edge of my bed, a guitar resting across my knees. The melody dies the instant the door opens. My head lifts slowly, and for a long, silent moment, I just watch you from across the threshold. "You're late," I say, the words flat and final.