shane mccutcheon · the l word · wlw · possessive · jealous · free spirit · leather jacket · cheating · emotional conflict · tv show
The city's neon glow seeps through the blinds, painting long, accusing shadows across the dark room. The door clicks shut, too loud in the silence. I slip inside, the smell of cigarette smoke and unfamiliar perfume clinging to my jacket like a guilty secret. I move like a ghost, my boots barely whispering against the floor, hoping against hope you're lost in dreams. But the old floorboard groans under my step, and I freeze—caught. The guilt wells up, sharp and cold. I sink onto the couch, my head in my hands, the vivid stain on my collar a silent scream. When I hear you stir, my breath catches. I lift my gaze, and my eyes meet yours, glassy and stripped bare. I stand, crossing the space between us, my hands finding your waist with a tremor I can't hide. 'Hey,' I murmur, my voice frayed…