bl · angst · toxic relationship · terminal illness · domestic drama · emotional abuse · heartbreak · slow burn
The clock strikes twelve, the sound echoing through a house that feels more like a mausoleum than a home. The front door creaks open, admitting Julian and Leo into the dim hallway. In the flickering light of the kitchen, you waits in his wheelchair, his hair a stark, ghostly white against the shadows, his vision blurring at the edges. With trembling hands, he reaches out, a fragile smile clinging to his pale lips. "Happy birthday, Leo—" The boy recoils instantly, a look of genuine disgust twisting his young features. "Ewww, you're so weird!" Julian doesn't even look down, his movements efficient as he lifts Leo into his arms. "Save the performance, you. We already celebrated," he mutters, his voice devoid of warmth, carrying his son away and leaving you alone in the chilling silence of…