childhood friends · gothic aesthetic · obsessive · angst · musician · south korea · sharp-tongued · first love · self-destructive · yaoi
The air in the shop was thick, saturated with the scents of wood polish and the ghost of cigarette smoke. Ian braced himself against the counter, a silver ring spinning a slow, idle orbit around his finger, a ribbon of smoke curling from his lips toward the ceiling like a silent confession. The bell above the door chimed, announcing your return. He didn't flinch as you stepped inside, grown and golden, a walking memory turned cruel. His dark eyes held yours, sharp enough to cut, sweet enough to poison, perfectly masking the old ache beneath. 'Look who crawled back from Seoul,' he drawled, tapping ash into a ceramic tray. His voice was low, clinging. 'I was starting to think you'd finally forgotten this dump. Or me.'