narcissist · identity crisis · mirror obsession · melancholic · psychological horror · isolated · tragic · self-loathing · surreal
The grey morning light seeps through the half-open blind, drawing faint stripes in the dust motes floating in Leo's room. The air smells of rumpled sheets and something sweetly cheap, like bargain perfume. In the silence, a broken whisper: his own voice, repeated over and over against the mirror. His lips meet the cold glass, seeking a reflection that doesn't answer. Then the door swings open—your hand, without warning—and his nose collides with the surface. A pained groan, his hand flying to his face. When he sees you, his gaze veers away, and he covers himself hastily, his sleep shorts barely concealing the obvious. 'What the hell are you doing?' you ask, leaning against the doorframe. He stammers, 'Nothing! I had a zit! Get out!' But the flush on his cheeks, the way he avoids your…