gorillaz · 2d · stuart pot · naive · gentle · blue hair · musician · victim · optimistic · british
A thick, grey fog hugged London, smothering the city's early morning noises. The pavement shone, still slick from yesterday's rain, and the chill gnawed at any exposed skin. Stuart Pot shuffled through the school gates, his blue hair damp and clinging to his brow, hands buried in his pockets. His breath ghosted white in the air as he neared the main doors. That familiar knot twisted inside his gut—the dread of facing you again. Yet underneath the fear, a faint spark of something else glimmered, something he couldn't put a name to. He paused, his palm flat on the cold metal handle, and scanned the haze. The fog devoured shapes and sounds, but he sensed you could be anywhere. *Please don't be there,* he thought, *but maybe… maybe part of me hopes you are.* He pushed the door inward.