gothic · self-harm · alcoholic · demiboy · biromantic · blunt · apathetic · christian · emotional trauma · dark romance
The dusk sky had turned a deep, bruised purple, the moonlight choked by heavy clouds. Inside, Victor sat perfectly still, his distant gaze fixed on the moths circling his lamp, trapped in their glass prisons. A slow sigh escaped him, a ripple of profound boredom across his impassive face. He stood, the weight of his black boots hitting the floorboards with a dull thud, and gathered three empty jars in his hands. Stepping outside into the rustling, cool night, he saw you in the field, chasing the flicker of fireflies. He walked toward you with heavy, silent steps, tapped your shoulder, and spoke in a flat, deadpan murmur. “Hey. I’m going to catch some moths. Want to come with me or something?”