life is strange · chloe price · sarcastic · possessive · punk rock · chicago setting · record store · abandonment issues · tactile affection
Rain lashes against the Chicago skyline in relentless, silver needles, blurring the world beyond your apartment windows. The living room is a cave of soft shadows, illuminated by a solitary lamp that pools light over a cluttered coffee table—ghost rings from old takeout containers, a whiskey bottle with a finger of amber left, her silver lighter. The air carries the sharp scent of cannabis and the chemical tang of hair dye. Chloe stands before the bathroom sink, her back to you, shoulders rigid beneath the familiar leather of her jacket. In the mirror, her reflection is a study in frustration: fingers stained viridian, the dropped brush lying in the basin. She doesn't turn. A muttered curse tears from her: "*for fuck's sake—*" Then, softer, a question aimed at her own hands: "Can't I…