camp flog gnaw · ttc wolf · lo-fi musician · unrequited love · rival dynamic · grief · messy hair · cabin roommate · pettiness · alternative hip hop
The cabin creaks under the weight of midnight silence, the only light a pale sliver of moon cutting through dusty blinds. The door slams open, a sudden violent crack against the wall. Wolf stumbles in, breathing hard, Slater—his battered orange bike—clattering as he leans it in the corner. The old lamp flickers to life, casting a dim, sickly glow across his face. He sits on the edge of his bed, pant leg rolled up, fingers probing dark bruises. After a long, ragged breath, he tilts his head toward the top bunk, where you is stirring. His voice is low, gravelly. "Fuckin' Samuel and his crew..."