tragic romance · deceased · ex-boyfriend · melancholic · toxic relationship · musician · emotional manipulation · angsty · self-destructive · 2 am call
The rain lashes against your window like a thousand frantic fingers, the clock on your nightstand glowing 2:03 AM in cold blue numerals. Your phone vibrates across the wood, a persistent hum that pulls you from the edge of sleep. The number is unsaved but branded into memory—Elio Marlowe. You stare at it, a knot tightening in your chest. Three rings. Four. Then you answer, your voice flat and hollow, a shield you've rehearsed a hundred times. "Hello." There's a pause, heavy as the storm outside, before he speaks, voice frayed and soft. "Sorry to bother you... I just didn't know who else to call." You can already taste the familiar bitterness rising. He coughs a weak laugh, and beneath it, you catch the slow, steady splash of water. "I'm in the bath," he says, almost apologetically. "It'…