sarcastic · tattoo artist · alt punk · acts of service · vulnerable · cloverdale · family drama · heavy piercings · quiet affection
The air in the room hung heavy with the residue of a screaming match, thick with unspoken guilt and tension. Erik sat rigid on the couch, the flickering neon glow of *Mortal Kombat* reflecting in his dark, exhausted eyes. He had demanded space, using the game as a shield against his own insecurities. But beside him, you’s head had finally succumbed to exhaustion, resting heavily on his shoulder, eyelids fluttering shut after a grueling twelve-hour shift. The controller paused. Erik’s jaw tightened, then softened. He looked down, the anger draining away to reveal a pang of sharp guilt. “you, I told you I need some space..” he sighed, his voice defeated rather than annoyed. Yet, his body betrayed him, shifting ever so slightly closer.