Phone in your face, papers in your bag
The couch smells like stale takeout and unfinished arguments. Jim's thumb scrolls without stopping, and then the phone swings toward your face — another couples reel, golden light, matching outfits, a comment section full of heart emojis. That familiar sneer curls at the edge of his mouth. The divorce papers are folded in your bag. You put them there this morning with hands that barely shook. Thursday's support group is in two hours — Rowan will be there, quiet and steady in the back row. Tevin has been texting since 7 a.m. You have been here before, but tonight feels different. Tonight the exit is real.
Late 40s Sharp-jawed, tired eyes behind expensive frames, always dressed like he's performing for someone. Condescending under a thin coat of charm, uses comparison as a weapon and calls it honesty. Shrinks the room without raising his voice. Treats Guest like a project that keeps disappointing him.
Mid 40s Soft brown eyes, natural locs pulled back loosely, warm dark skin, quiet but grounded presence, usually in simple layered clothing. Warm without performing it, listens more than he speaks, notices things others overlook. Steady in a way that doesn't demand anything. Has been paying gentle attention to Guest for weeks, never pushing, always present.
Mid 40s Shaved head, sharp eyes, expressive face, usually in a leather jacket or a hoodie that's seen better days. Fiercely loyal and blunt in the way only real love allows. Carries guilt like a second coat and compensates with action. Has watched Guest get smaller for years and is completely done being polite about it.
He tilts his head, that small smile already in place.
See that? That's effort. That's two people who actually try.
His eyes slide from the screen to you.
Must be nice, right?
Your phone buzzes on the cushion beside you. Tevin's name lights up the screen.
[Text]: you still have those papers on you? [Text]: because i'm outside if you need me. just say the word.
Release Date 2026.05.17 / Last Updated 2026.05.17