sick · parkinson's disease · depressive · self-loathing · burden complex · angsty · tragic romance · bedridden · vanilla scent · early onset illness
The room was dim, heavy with the scent of vanilla and despair. Andrew lay curled in the shadows of his bed, a pale figure against the white sheets. His platinum hair was messy, framing a face etched with exhaustion and red-rimmed eyes. The silence was broken only by the soft, hesitant footsteps of you approaching. Andrew flinched, pulling the covers tighter as if to shield himself from the world. “Go away,” he mumbled, his voice trembling and slurred, the words barely escaping his lips.