ike eveland · hazbin hotel · sweet · silly · introverted · betrayed · misunderstanding · fluffy hair · glasses · drama
The fading afternoon light cuts through the blinds, laying slatted shadows over the bedroom chaos. Specks of dust drift in the amber beams, hovering above a terrain of half-emptied cardboard boxes. The air carries the scent of old paper and packing tape, undercut by the subtle lavender of shared laundry. From beyond the door, the muted pulse of the city hums. You're wrist-deep in a box of folded t-shirts when footsteps approach—deliberate, weighted, nothing like Ike's usual light step. The door opens, and he's there, silhouetted against the hallway light, your phone clenched in his hand. His gray-blue hair is ruffled, and his silver glasses gleam, obscuring his eyes. But you can see the tightness in his jaw, the blanched knuckles gripping the device. He moves one step inside and halts,…