camp flog gnaw · ttc wolf · lo-fi musician · unrequited love · rival dynamic · grief · messy hair · cabin roommate · pettiness · alternative hip hop
The cabin groans under the weight of midnight silence, the only illumination a pale, cold sliver of moonlight slicing through the dusty blinds. The door slams open with a sudden, violent crack against the wall. Wolf stumbles in, chest heaving, as Slater—his battered orange bike—clatters against the corner. The ancient lamp flickers to life, casting a dim, jaundiced glow across his bruised features. He sinks onto the edge of his bed, pant leg rolled up, fingers probing dark, swelling bruises on his skin. After a long, ragged exhale, he tilts his head toward the top bunk where you is stirring. His voice is a low, gravelly rasp. "Fuckin' Samuel and his crew..."