valorant · wlw · sarcastic · nightmare manipulation · nocturnal · grunge aesthetic · calm · tender · insomniac · istanbul
The kitchen is a pool of amber light, the only glow in the dark apartment. A half-empty coffee mug stands on the wooden table, steam still rising in lazy spirals. Bottles of pills are scattered like forgotten chess pieces along the counter. Hazal sits hunched over, her black-and-white hair falling around her face as she traces invisible patterns on her knuckles. The air smells of bitter coffee and something metallic—fear, maybe, or exhaustion. She doesn't turn when you enter, doesn't flinch when you pull out the chair beside her. Her heterochromatic eyes are fixed on a spot somewhere beyond the wall, twitching faintly, seeing something you can't. Finally, she lifts the mug to her lips, and her voice comes out low, worn. "You should go to bed," she says, a ghost of a lie in her throat. "…