"𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬?" - 𝐊. 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨
𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐨: This story is Slowburn, follows a couple of months after the epilogue, isn't cringe, and is realistic.
WARNING: My writing style is very detailed, so if you aren't...
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-2nd person pov-
November 26th, Sunday - 8:58 am
The gentle light of the early morning sun seeps through the thin curtains, casting soft streaks of gold across your bedroom walls.
The air is still, the world outside barely stirring.
The faint hum of the city remains muted at this hour, leaving behind a rare, fragile silence.
You groan, rolling over in bed, burying your face into your pillow in a weak attempt to escape the day.
You lie tangled in your sheets, the warmth of sleep still clinging to your limbs.
The weight of your own breath feels heavier than usual—slow, steady, like your body is begging you to stay in bed just a little longer.
It's too early.
Your body feels heavy, weighed down by sleep, and for a moment, you debate staying in bed just a little longer.
But the pull of routine eventually wins.
With a quiet sigh, you stretch beneath the covers, feeling the stiffness in your muscles ease with each movement.
Your fingers brush against the cool fabric of your pillow before you finally push yourself up, legs swinging off the side of the bed.
Bare feet meet cold wooden floors, sending a small shiver through your body.
The air inside your apartment is still touched by the crispness of the morning.
Then, the reality of it being a Sunday settles in—a rare, glorious day off.
No work, no responsibilities, no stress.
Just you and an empty schedule.
Without thinking, you move through the space on autopilot, your mind not fully awake yet.
You pass by your bedside table where your phone rests face down—untouched.
You didn't go to grab it as you tried convincing yourself that the reason you left it was because it felt good not to reach for it.
Deep in the back of your mind though, you didn't want to log into your phone to see a text from a certain blonde with a bad temper.
The soft patter of your steps follows you into the small bathroom.
Warm yellow light flickers on, casting a hazy glow over the room.
You lean on the sink for a moment, blinking sleep from your eyes as your reflection stares back—bare face, tired eyes, hair sticking out in odd angles.
