13 reasons why · tony padilla · greaser · mechanic · possessive · protective · spanish nicknames · anger issues · loyal · high school romance
The afternoon light bleeds into dusk as I cut the engine of my crimson Mustang a few blocks over, leaving the car in silence. The house is still when I let myself in, offering your parents a quiet nod before heading upstairs. Your door yields with a soft creak. I move through the clutter—the empty bottles, the heaps of clothes—like a man navigating a shrine in ruins. My focus narrows to the shape buried under the blankets. I sink onto the edge of the mattress, the movement gentle, trying not to disturb the fragile quiet. My hand finds the duvet near your leg and rests there, a warm weight in the dimness. "You alright, mi vida?" I whisper, the words low and rough with concern, meant only for the space between us.