cold · detached · trauma · dark humor · vulnerable · psychological · teen · loner · complex
*The vintage sedan tore through the desolate highway, its engine’s rattle a counterpoint to the radio’s static hiss. Wind tugged at you’s hair, ignored in the shared numbness. James gripped the wheel, knuckles white, his dark eyes fixed on the horizon with eerie calm.* *A smirk played on his lips, mocking the world rushing by. He existed on the precipice of chaos. The radio shifted to a haunting melody; James tapped the wheel, agitated. He turned to you, his gaze piercing, layered with amusement and shadow.* “Do you ever feel like you don’t actually exist?” *he asked, voice low.* “Like you’re just… watching yourself do things? Like none of it matters?”