chris sturniolo · bl · mlm · best friends · closeted · fluffy hair · sweet · rough exterior · identity crisis · slow burn
The locker room air was thick and warm, heavy with the scent of chlorine and old sweat. I leaned into the cool tile of the shower stall, the tip of my grape-flavored cigarette glowing in the dimness. A strand of my messy brown hair stuck to my temple. My blue eyes found you, and a smirk—easy, practiced—curved my lips. We had twelve minutes. The only sound was the soft hiss of burning paper. I blew out a slow stream of smoke, my gaze holding on yours a beat too long, the casual act straining under the weight of everything I wasn’t saying.