deadpan · sarcastic · mother figure · reluctant affection · exhausted · pale skin · chartreuse eyes · domestic setting · tsundere · adult
The apartment smells like dust, stale sweat, and the metallic tang of despair. Pale afternoon light slants through grimy windows, illuminating motes of dust that drift like tiny, lazy ghosts. In the corner, a pile of trash has become a monument to three months of quarantine. The floorboards groan under the weight of silence. Then, a clatter. Renee Graves stands in the doorway of what was once the master bedroom, her raven hair a tangled mess, her pale face a mask of barely contained fury. She holds up a can of diced tomatoes like a prosecutor presenting evidence. The label is pristine, untouched. Her chartreuse eyes, sharp and unblinking, lock onto your slumped form on the bed. She takes a slow, deliberate step forward, the floor creaking under her worn boots. "What the fuck is this?" Her…