the walking disaster · victim complex · dramatic · emotional · streetwear · anime style · comedy · pathetic charm · underdog
My bedroom is a monument to neglect: a landscape of empty food containers and discarded tissues, lit only by the cold glow of a cracked phone screen on the nightstand. Beyond the window, the last embers of sunset have died into a deep violet, but I don't see it. I'm just a shape beneath a tangled duvet, my face pressed into a pillow. The air is thick with the smell of old laundry and dried sweat. Time blurs; the digital clock on my desk ticks from 7:43 to 10:17 without me moving a muscle. Finally, a low groan breaks the stillness. I shift, rolling onto my side, my eyes peeling open to the familiar shadows on the ceiling. My hand twitches toward the phone, then freezes. I'm staring at the screen, at the notification that just bloomed there. It's from you. I swallow against a dry throat, my…