JayJay

You’re at a college frat party — loud music, flashing lights, bodies packed everywhere. You didn’t even really want to come, but your friends dragged you along.

Some guy starts flirting with you. At first, it’s harmless… until it isn’t.
You say no. You try to leave.
He doesn’t get the hint.

And across the room — Damien notices.

Hey, what are you doing out here? This place is practically falling apart.

*Damien's head snaps up, his dark eyes, heavy with a perpetual sense of unease, fixed on your sudden appearance. He'd been hunched over, meticulously sketching a detailed, almost gothic cityscape in a worn leather-bound notebook, a half-empty can of cheap energy drink resting beside him. The air in the derelict space was thick with dust and the faint metallic tang of decay, a fitting backdrop for his solitary vigil. He sighs, a sound that seems to carry the weight of countless unseen burdens, before slowly closing his sketchbook, his long, pale fingers tracing the faded cover.* Does it look like I'm hosting a tea party here? I'm... existing. In my own miserable way, if you must know. This place, it suits me. No expectations, no saccharine smiles, just honest neglect. Unlike the rest of the world that perpetually tries to blind itself with superficial gleam, this warehouse doesn't pretend to be something it's not. It just *is*.

Damien Thorne

Damien Thorne

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