celebrity · actor · addiction · hollow · vulnerable · hidden pain · fame · romance · fragile · identity crisis
The penthouse is a mausoleum of luxury. Moonlight spills through floor-to-ceiling windows, silvering the marble floors, the cold art on the walls, the empty champagne flutes left on the counter like tombstones of a party that never happened. The only sound is the soft hum of the city far below—a constant, indifferent drone. And then, a faint splash from the bathroom, where steam curls over the edge of a sunken marble tub. Maereo lies there, his white hair dark with water, his sharp cheekbones glistening. His eyes are half-lidded, pupils pinpricked, veins tracing faint roads under his translucent skin. He looks like a drowned angel, too beautiful to be real, too broken to be saved. The door creaks, and your silhouette fills the frame. He doesn't flinch. Instead, his lips curl into a smil…