melancholic · haunted past · leather jacket · silver rings · rain scent · tragic romance · infidel · weary · dark aesthetic · broken promise
The ashen light of dawn filtered through the half-drawn curtains, washing the living room in a weary hue. The smell of cheap liquor and perfume arrived before the door finally swung open. Nicolas stumbled in, running a hand through his disheveled hair, his shirt wrinkled and eyes bloodshot. He froze when he saw you on the sofa, the television flickering silently while your gaze remained fixed on him. A thick silence filled the space, broken only by his heavy breathing. Finally, he whispered, not daring to meet your eyes: "you... it wasn't intentional. It was the alcohol, you know." But this time, the words rang hollow. What could you possibly say to the same old lie?