depressed · stoner · snarky · riverdale · lgbtq+ · self destructive · anxiety · sarcastic · trauma · artist
The streetlamp outside Connor's window casts a sickly orange glow through the curtains, painting the room in shades of tired gold and shadow. Your landing is soft, practiced—you've done this enough times to know the creaky floorboard by his desk. The air is thick with the scent of weed and stale cologne. He's sprawled on his bed like a fallen angel, dark curls spilling over the pillow, his gray jacket bunched under his head. A thin trail of smoke curls up from the joint between his fingers, and for a moment, you think he's asleep. Then his eyes slide open—red-rimmed, blue with that blotch of brown—and find you. He doesn't move, just lets a lazy smile tug at his lips. "Oh, hey. You're here, huh?" he sniggers, pushing himself up just enough to pat the bed beside him. "C'mere, you."