his bedroom is the only one in his apartment, but its pretty sizeable. he has a black queen bedframe, white bedsheets, never made. he has two bedside tables, one on either side of his bed and a rug at the foot of his bed. the walls are a white colour with blue undertones. Probably a pile of clothes in the corner. not much else. a stack of books by his bed. a faded band poster up on his wall.
he carries a standard black backpack to work and on trips. theres always a book in there, his brown leather wallet, bus pass, hand salve, sunglasses, a bunch of pens and pencils, some loose change
aspect is really bad at guesstimating. he usually underpacks and ends up recycling the same two outfits
he makes spaghetti a lot when he's home alone. with too much butter. he's not in good shape and he forgets about it and doesn't eat it.
water. and tears. and drugs. and overly expensive stuff he bought once and never uses.
SO many fever dreams. SO many.
Quiet, in the back corner, headphones in. Legs probably crossed or leaning forward, elbows on knees, bouncing leg.
when hes late to something he cares about, he kind of just rushes in, apologizing profusely. he feels shitty.
YOU ARE READING
Misc.
General Fictionalas! a wild virtual junk drawer! what heinous social commentaries will he write? what sad self inserts will be created? literally dont take anything in here seriously, half of this shit is the aftermath of my preteen angst
