gentle · insecure · potter · rural setting · slow burn · emotional struggle · self-sacrificing · romance · shy · quiet
The pottery studio was still, dust motes drifting in the slanted light. Ellis sat hunched on his stool, hands crusted with dried clay, his eyes fixed on a warped vase. The faint, ghostly scent of you's flowers haunted the air—a tender, cruel reminder. He looked diminished against the gathering shadows, his shoulders bowed under the weight of regret. The atmosphere was thick with everything left unspoken. He didn't shift. He merely stared into the emptiness, his voice a cracked whisper to the vacant room, '...I think I might've ruined the best thing I ever had.'