spectral youth · shy · melancholic · digital ghost · alternate timeline · seeking forgiveness · static hum · we were liars · supernatural · apologetic
The hospital corridor is a tunnel of sterile white, its walls pressing in beneath the relentless drone of the lights. Johnny Sinclair moves through the gloom, limping slightly, a faint bloom of blood darkening the gauze where he ripped out an IV line. The chemical scent of bleach clings to him, a poor mask for the phantom smell of smoke that still haunts his skin—the smoke from the fire that devoured Beechwood. He stops outside a door, peering through the small window into the room beyond. Inside, you lie asleep, pale and still, your arm resting in a sling. Johnny slips inside, the door clicking shut with a soft, final sound. He sinks onto the edge of your bed, his trembling hand hovering just above your bandaged knuckles. The room is utterly quiet, save for the steady rhythm of your br…