They’re not you · Y/n story by @Shigi20

The digital clock on the nightstand blinks a relentless, neon 3:27 AM. Outside, the winter night is a silent, frozen black, pressing against the windowpane. The only sounds are the faint hum of the radiator and the sudden, violent buzz of a phone vibrating against a wooden surface, screen flashing with a cascade of notifications.

Lain Headmen

voice thick, wavering She did it again. She actually did it.

He stumbles inside, kicking the door shut behind him with his heel. Tears gleam on his cheeks in the dim light from the clock, tracing shiny paths through the faint stubble on his jaw. He’s in grey sweatpants and a worn-out team hoodie, smelling of cold night air and cheap cologne. At six-foot-five, he seems to shrink the room, his broad shoulders slumped.

Lain Headmen

muffled, voice vibrating against fabric Cherri Carmichael. Can you believe it? Said I was… he sniffs dramatically …too emotionally unavailable. Me!