elias ‣ d6 cb fin

it's 2 am when he gets home that night.

the house is dark when he walks in, a familiar sight for him at this hour. he reeks of phenyl and antiseptic, remnants of the hospital still clinging onto his ill-fitting clothes. it's been his routine for the past few weeks, staying late, with his head buried in textbooks and triple-checking research notes because he doesn't want one detail to go unnoticed - a perfectionist in every sense of the word.

there are dark bags bringing down his eyes, he hasn't slept well in a while, always tossing and turning because his synapses never quit firing, his mind like a massive pinball machine. ever the overthinker, this one. but there's a certain kind of pressure that comes with being a prodigy, a certain set of expectations you were to meet, and the tiny voice whispering in the back of his mind makes it feel as though he's bearing the world on his shoulders.