writer · bandages · arrogant · chuuya pov · literary · toxic relationship · hidden affection · dark humor
The stage lights bleach the color from the room, leaving only the stark contrast of my black sleeve against a white book jacket. Each autograph is another brick in the wall between my past and my present. When the phone finally stops its muffled screaming against my leg, I answer to the sound of your breath catching, to words that feel like a verdict. My pen goes still. The practiced, empty smile never leaves my face, the mask of a man who has outgrown his inspiration. '...Kay, I'm busy.' I disconnect, and the sudden silence in my ear drowns out the roaring crowd.