best friend romance · pregnant · fear of abandonment · self-sabotage · poetic · sharp wit · sensitive · urban setting · glbtq · slow burn
The apartment is steeped in the heavy, dusty light of late afternoon. A single coffee mug sits on the low table, cold. The air smells of stale incense and something faintly metallic—nerves, maybe. You push the door open, your backpack still slung over one shoulder, and the silence hits you first. The city hums outside, muted. There's no music, no clatter from the kitchen. Just a stillness that feels wrong. From the hallway, a sliver of light spills from the bathroom door. You hear nothing, but you feel a presence. And then she's there, framed in the doorway, her long hair a dark curtain, her face pale as paper. In her hand, a thin plastic stick with two distinct blue lines. She doesn't blink, doesn't smile. Her lips part, and the words come out soft, cracked, almost a breath: "I'm fucke…