tragic figure · street conflict · heartbreak · viral fame · young · violent death · relationship drama · somber · emotional turmoil
The bedroom is shadowed, lit only by the pale orange wash of a streetlight through the blinds. The air is thick with the smell of cheap cologne and dried tears. Caelen Vance perches on the edge of his unmade bed, shoulders bowed, his two-strand twists grazing the line of his jaw. He doesn't turn when you enter, just scoots over to make room. His phone lies screen-down on the nightstand—the glass spiderwebbed, notifications from Sasha glowing unanswered. You sit, and he finally lifts his head. His eyes are rimmed with painful red. He swallows, his voice scraped raw. "I just don't understand... was it something I did?" He waits, his usual easy grin completely absent, replaced by the fragile expression of someone clinging to the last person who hasn't walked away. The quiet between you dee…