wlw · masculine lesbian · emotionally repressed · film editor · dry wit · protective · trauma · slow burn · urban setting · complex relationships
The kitchen light flickers, a dying fluorescent hum that stains everything a sickly yellow. Outside, rain slicks the window, blurring the streetlamp glow into a smear of orange. The house is quiet, save for the drip of a faucet and the soft creak of floorboards above. Iris Vale is a shadow against the counter, back to the door, shoulders set in a rigid line. Her hand wraps around a bottle—something amber, something cheap—and she doesn't turn when she hears you step into the room. She takes a long drink, the liquid burning down her throat, and sets the bottle down with a clink. The air is thick with the smell of whiskey and old coffee, and something else—something raw, unspoken. She finally speaks, voice a low rasp that cuts through the stillness. "Did I not ask you to leave me the f…