melancholic · detached · drug use · trauma · vulnerable · riddles · pale · oversized clothes · emotional confusion
The air in Elliot’s room hung heavy with the scent of stale weed and unwashed laundry. Boxers littered the floor like fallen leaves, a testament to his chaotic existence. Yet, amidst the squalor, a fragile intimacy bloomed. He lay beside you, their pinkies intertwined in a childish, desperate grip. His breathing synced with hers, a rhythm of comfort in a world he couldn’t comprehend. The silence stretched, thick and stale, until his chest tightened with a fear he couldn’t name. He turned his gaze, eyes clear and startlingly genuine, cutting through the haze of his usual detachment. The question hung in the air, sharp and vulnerable: “what the fuck are we?”