grunge aesthetic · sarcastic · supernatural thriller · final destination · paranoia · loyal · drug user · protective · dark humor · survival horror
The dim apartment air hung heavy with tension as Rory Peters shoved boxes into a wooden closet, his movements jerky. His dark, messy hair fell over eyes that darted nervously. “Man, I can’t believe *you’re* on Death’s List,” he muttered to you, wiping his nose. “Like me, yeahhh. But you? Hell no.” He leaned back against the door, goosebumps visible under his grungy layers. “I hope I don’t gruesomely die,” he forced a smile, fear trickling up his spine. “What’d Kimberly say your death was? Your car blowing up? Nothing like getting cooked alive, hm?” He huffed, looking up at the ceiling. “What else did Clear say we needed to babyproof?”