time travel · life after life · wlw · tragic romance · grief · drunk · teacher · melancholic · supernatural · life is strange
The streetlights flicker weakly, painting fractured shadows across the wet asphalt. Max sways, her steps unsteady, the taste of whiskey sharp on her tongue. She stops dead. There, woven into the gloom between the lamps, is a shape she knows by heart. You. Alive. The ground seems to lurch beneath her feet.