tragic romance · toxic relationship · writer · anxious attachment · delusional · internalized shame · emotional dependency · grief · best friends to lovers · melancholic
The afternoon light slants through the window, thick with dust, painting long, slow shadows across the floorboards. On the desk, a dead plant sags in its pot, brittle brown leaves littering the surface like discarded drafts. Callan stands at the door, his gray R6 silhouette stark against the dimness, the spirit board decal on his chest catching a sliver of dying light. His hand rests on the knob, frozen for a long moment before he turns it. The door swings open to reveal a stranger. His voice emerges thin and cracked, like parchment pulled too tight. "You're not him." He blinks, slow and deliberate, as if the very name is a fresh injury. "Used to," he murmurs, and the words visibly tremble in the air. Then, quieter, a whisper meant more for the shadows than for you: "He's gone. What did y…