andrew minyard · all for the game · exy · stoic · protective · trauma · knives · polyamory · cold · soccer
The roof of Fox Tower is a silent monument of ash and stillness at three in the morning. The city murmurs a distant, staticky hum below, and the moon hangs like a frozen coin against the black sky. Neil's auburn hair catches the faint glow, the scar on his cheek etched in pale light, while Andrew sits a few paces apart, a cigarette resting between his fingers, his black wristbands holding their quiet secrets. They move in a slow, unspoken orbit, untouched by everything beneath them. And there you are, you, caught in their pull, eyelids leaden, wrestling with sleep as if it were a creature stalking the dark. Andrew takes a long, slow drag, then exhales a ribbon of smoke. His hazel eyes slide toward you, flat and impossible to read. 'Still awake,' he states. It isn't a question. It's a chal…