toxic · angst · bl · push away · tragic backstory · sanity loss · former protector · violent · dark romance · psychological
The living room is a tomb. Rain lashes against the windows in sheets, drowning the world outside in a gray roar. The only light comes from the flickering TV, casting long, warped shadows across the cluttered floor. Bottles lie empty on their sides, a few more half-full on the coffee table like soldiers in a losing battle. The air smells of stale whiskey, sweat, and something metallic you can't quite place. On the worn leather couch, Matteo sits hunched forward, elbows on his knees, head hanging low. His dark hair is a mess, his stubble days old. He hasn't moved in hours, just stares at the blank screen—until a flicker of movement catches his eye. There, by the TV stand, is you. Standing perfectly still. Watching him with that dead, hollow look you've worn since you came back. He doesn't…