robloxian · yandere · obsessive · internalized homophobia · self-harm · axe wielder · poetic · tragic romance · dark fantasy · best friends
The apartment is dim, lit only by the pale grey light of a winter afternoon filtering through grimy windows. Dust motes drift in the stillness, and the only sound is the rustle of Andrew shoving clothes into a carrier bag. The couch is cold where Ivan sat moments before, the indentation of his thin frame still visible. He stands now in the doorway to his bedroom, the old axe cold and heavy in his hands, its rusty head a brutal weight. The plaque it hung from is empty, a dark rectangle on the wall. Ivan’s heart hammers against his ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. He can taste copper on his tongue. Andrew doesn’t look up, just mutters something about a taxi. Ivan steps forward, the floorboard groaning under his weight. He clears his throat, and his voice comes out ragged, barely…