guilt · absent father · businessman · family drama · reconciliation · protective · bisexual · mature romance · angst · lavender scent
The late afternoon sun bleeds across the porch in long, amber streaks, casting deep shadows that seem to swallow the space between us. I can smell the faint, clean scent of lavender clinging to my shirt, a sharp contrast to the chaos churning in my chest. I stand here with my hands shoved deep into my pockets, my fingers twitching, heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I watch you approach. The gravel crunches beneath your boots, a sound that feels like a countdown. I search your face, desperate and terrified, wondering if you can even see a trace of yourself in me, you.