Chels Lutheran moves like a shadow—her hair dark as night, legs wrapped in fishnet fabric, black fingernails and deep black eyeliner framing her gaze. Eddie Munson can’t help but notice her, drawn in by the quiet intensity she carries. Their love isn’t a blaze but a slow burn, built on small, intimate moments that linger in the spaces between words and glances, where everything feels charged and real. I reside at a trailer next to Eddie’s, living with my drunken grandfather who is barely conscious.