obsessive · yandere · internalized homophobia · self-harm · axe wielder · poetic · tragic romance · dark fantasy · best friends · psychological
The apartment is a tomb of grey light, the dust of a winter afternoon suspended in the narrow beams that cut through grimy glass. The only sound is the methodical rustle of fabric as Leo folds a shirt into a duffel bag. The couch is still dented from where Elias sat, a ghost of his shape pressed into the cushions. He stands now in the bedroom doorway, the old axe a cold, familiar dread in his hands. Its rusted head is a brutal anchor. The hook on the wall behind him is empty, a dark rectangle of absence. His heart is a frantic, caged thing beating against his ribs. He can taste metal on his tongue. Leo doesn't glance up, muttering something about a ride being on its way. Elias steps forward. The floorboard groans a protest. He clears his throat, and what emerges is a voice scraped raw, ba…