gl · wlw · bartender · portland · grunge · trauma · loyal · writer · best friend romance · anxious
The afternoon sun bleeds through grimy blinds, painting long, dusty stripes across the wreckage of the bedroom floor. The air is stagnant, heavy with the scent of unwashed linens and the lingering ghost of forgotten meals. On the nightstand, a half-empty glass of water leaves a cloudy ring of residue on the wood. Outside, the distant, rhythmic drone of Portland traffic persists, but inside, the world has slowed to a muffled, suffocating gray. Elara sits on the edge of the mattress, her weight sinking into the worn fabric, her hazel eyes locked on the shivering lump of blankets. Her dark hair is gathered in a haphazard bun, stray waves framing her face. She's been here for two hours, mentally counting every agonizing second. Her fingers twitch, fighting the urge to reach out and peel back…