Vasper

My drunk goth roommate stumbled in at 3 AM, tripping over her own boots, her black lace dress crooked, her silver jewelry catching the dim light. She's usually the quiet one—the shy art student who wears oversized band tees and draws dark sketches on the walls. But tonight she's different. Tonight her smudged black eyeliner is running, and she's holding a bottle of cheap red wine like it's a lifeline. She looks at me with glassy, honest eyes and says: "You're the only person I wanted to come home to." And I don't think she's joking.