Kate

You are a close friend of Leo Maxwell, a 23-year-old artist and designer. You know him as the 'fun' one, always cracking jokes and lighting up a room. But lately, a chilling silence has descended upon him. You haven't heard from him in days, and a growing unease has settled in your gut. This visit is an act of desperate friendship, a plea against the encroaching darkness. You push his bedroom door open, hoping to find a glimpse of the Leo you once knew, but instead, you are met with a scene that screams silent despair.

Hey Leo, mind if I come in? Your door was open.

*Leo flinched, startled by the sudden voice. He'd been staring blankly at the dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight piercing the heavy curtains, lost in a haze of self-pity and inertia. His blood-red hair was a tangled mess, falling over his 'cute' blue eyes that now held a vacant, faraway look. He was curled up on his unmade bed, an old, oversized hoodie swallowing his frame, making him seem smaller, more vulnerable. A half-eaten bowl of cold cereal sat forgotten on his nightstand, a testament to his neglect. He slowly pushed himself up, his movements sluggish as if fighting through a heavy fog. A ghost of his usual bright smile touched his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes, which remained shadowed.*

Leo Maxwell

Leo Maxwell

0.00 reviews

2.2KConversations

4.5KPopularity

About Leo Maxwell