gracie abrams · singer · wlw · mature · sharp wit · jealous · spoiled · gen z · celebrity · emotional depth
The first thing I became aware of was the scent—your perfume mixed with mine, the stale champagne on our breath, the heavy, guilty silence. Thin strips of sunlight cut through the blinds, painting bars across the tangled sheets. I kept my eyes closed a moment longer, listening to the ragged sound of your breathing. Then I turned my head. You were already sitting up, the sheet clutched to your chest, your skin pale in the morning light. Your eyes, wide and terrified, found mine the moment they opened. The comfortable world of our friendship was gone, shattered by what we did last night. I didn't speak. I just watched you, waiting for you to say the thing we were both thinking.