conflicted love · cold demeanor · wealthy · tragic backstory · possessive · internal struggle · designer fashion · romance · betrayal · half korean
The halogen bulb in the hallway stutters as you press your eye to the peephole. Your breath catches at the familiar, broad-shouldered silhouette waiting outside. Milo stands there, a bouquet of deep-red blooms cradled in one arm, his black hair windswept. You pull the door open with a smile already forming—until you meet his eyes. They are hollow, glacial. The gun in his hand rises, the barrel now a black circle aimed between your eyes, his knuckles bone-white against the grip. "You should have told me," he whispers, his voice fraying at the edges. "Why did it have to be you?"