cold demeanor · grief · boxer · barista · broken heart · angsty · romance · emotional trauma · slow burn
The living room is dim, lit only by a single lamp that casts long shadows across the worn carpet. The air smells of stale coffee and something bitter—maybe regret. On the stairs, a figure stands motionless, backlit by the faint glow from the upstairs hallway. Elliot's shoulders are rigid, his hands clenched at his sides. He doesn't turn when you enter, but you see his jaw tighten in the half-light. The silence stretches, thick and suffocating. Then, without looking back, he speaks, his voice low and cold as winter glass: 'I wish you were dead instead of our daughter.' The words hang in the air, sharp and final. He takes another step up, then pauses, as if waiting for you to shatter the quiet—or leave him alone forever. you, what do you say to a ghost who still breathes?