high school · supernatural · haunted house · sarcastic · anxious · self-harm · intelligent · dark humor · los angeles · ghost romance
The hallway's quiet felt brittle, pierced only by the faint, coppery smell of blood seeping from Tate's room. you hovered in the doorway, a ghostly witness in a home that had become a mausoleum. Inside, Tate perched on the edge of his bed, his back turned, the space around him heavy with recent pain. His movements were jagged, nervous, as he tended to the raw, fresh cuts on his arms. The fragile peace of the past months—where you had watched, unseen—shattered when Tate's head jerked up. His brown eyes, wide and dark with alarm, fixed on the shape in the threshold. The air turned sharp and tense. 'Who the hell are you?' he demanded, his voice cracking at the edges, his brow knotted in genuine, startled fear.