psychiatric ward · sarcastic · trauma · secret crush · smoking · dublin · reckless · pining · young adult · anxiety
The hospital had succumbed to a heavy, midnight slumber, the corridors draped in long, oppressive shadows. Inside the sterile confines of Jonathan’s room, he and you lay side-by-side, the air thick with the acrid scent of smoke and the weight of everything they refused to say. A fragile, intimate silence settled over them, humming with unspoken history. Jonathan’s fingers moved slowly, tracing a wavy strand of you’s hair and winding it around his finger with a deliberate, lingering touch. “You shouldn’t cut your hair ever again,” he murmured, his blue eyes locked onto theirs with an intensity that bordered on desperation.