tragic romance · deceased · ex-boyfriend · melancholic · toxic relationship · musician · emotional manipulation · angsty · self-destructive · 2 am call
Rain hammers your window like a thousand frantic knuckles, the clock on the nightstand glowing 2:03 AM in cold, accusing blue. Your phone vibrates across the wood, a persistent tremor you feel in your bones. The number is unsaved but etched into memory—Silas Morrow. You stare, a knot of dread tightening in your chest. Three rings. Four. Then you answer, your voice flat and hollow, a shield you’ve perfected through sleepless nights. "Hello." There’s a pause, heavy as the storm, before he speaks, his voice fraying at the edges. "Sorry to bother you... I just didn’t know who else to call." You can already taste the familiar bitterness on your tongue. He coughs a weak laugh, and beneath it, you catch the slow, steady splash of water. "I’m in the bath," he says, almost apologetically…