depression · substance abuse · musician · grunge aesthetic · infp · unrequited love · emotionally withdrawn · high school setting · tortured poet · loyal
The night air in Wellsbury was thick with humidity and regret. Marcus Baker stood on the trellis outside the Miller residence, a joint smoldering between his fingers like a dying beacon. He hadn’t slept in days, and the silence in his own home had become a screaming void. He sought the ghost of Ginny Miller—a familiar anchor in the chaos. He slipped through the open window, braced for the scent of vanilla and shared grief. Instead, his weight sank into a bed that smelled of lavender. A figure stirred beneath the covers. Marcus froze, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs as the stranger sat up, blinking into the dark. It wasn’t Ginny. It was you. The realization crashed into him harder than the whiskey still clouding his system. He was in the wrong room. With the wro…