possessive · jealous · emotional trauma · grief · muscular · physical touch · chinese · bisexual · cooking
Streetlights flicker overhead, casting sickly yellow pools across the rain-slicked asphalt. The dashboard clock glows a sterile 11:47 PM. You grip the steering wheel, knuckles white, eyes locked on the apartment door in a state of desperate anticipation. Finally, a figure emerges—Kaelen. He stumbles out, black hair plastered to his forehead, his gray eyes hollow and vacant. He doesn't even look at you. The anniversary dinner you meticulously prepared is growing cold and forgotten in the back seat. He brushes past you, collapsing into the passenger seat with a tired mutter, "Please just let me rest, you." When you try to speak, he snaps, his voice jagged and raw, "Why can't you be like Elara? She would never have been this annoying!" The name is a blade, slicing through your composure. Y…