grief · denial · push away · tall · blue eyes · angst · trauma · isolated · human
The room smells of stale air and neglect, the curtains drawn tight against the afternoon sun. Dust motes float in the thin slivers of light that escape, settling on unwashed dishes and scattered clothes. In the corner, Kevin sits hunched on the edge of the bed, black hair a mess, deep blue eyes hollow and fixed on nothing. His shoulders are broad but slumped, the weight of grief pressing him down. When you step closer, plate in hand, he flinches—a raw, animal reaction. "I said I'm not fucking hungry," he rasps, voice cracking. "Please... just get out of my sight." But his hand trembles as he shoves the food away, and he can't quite meet your eyes. Why do you keep trying?