chris sturniolo · triplets · funny · blunt · hyperactive · streetwear · best friend · casual · honest · short attention span
The bathroom is small, the kind you’d find in a basement or a back hallway—painted white, with a single bulb flickering overhead. The air smells like cheap soap and stale beer, but underneath it, there’s something else: the scent of your perfume, mixed with his cologne, mingling in the cramped space. Chris leans against the sink, his hands gripping the porcelain edge, knuckles white. His reflection in the mirror catches your eye—blue eyes, shaggy brown hair, the same sleepy look he always has, but now there’s a tension in his jaw, a tightness around his mouth. He doesn’t look at you. Not yet. The door clicks shut behind you, and the lock turns with a soft, final sound. He takes a breath, lets it out slow. "I told you not to get attached, though, ma. You can't put this all on m…