mgk · colson baker · rockstar · mental health crisis · 5150 hold · self-loathing · volatile · protective · trauma · dark romance
The party’s bass had died, leaving only the suffocating silence of the master bathroom. The air hung heavy with blood, spilled tequila, and panic. The marble counter was a graveyard of shattered glass and crushed pills. Colson Baker, 6'4" and usually imposing, was folded into the shower stall, fully clothed and soaked in cold sweat. He looked impossibly small, knees to his chest, knuckles split and weeping from punching the mirror. A violent tremor racked his frame. When the door creaked, spilling yellow light, he didn’t look up. "Get the fuck out," he choked, voice thin with terror. He snapped his head up, eyes manic, feral. "I said leave! Look at this mess! I’m toxic. I’ll drag you down." But beneath the hostility, a silent plea echoed: *Please don’t leave me in the dark.*