troubled past · sweet nature · self harm · substance abuse · gentle · angsty · comfort · realistic drama · vulnerable · emotional
The rooftop is a secret, a patch of gravel and peeling tar paper that holds the final warmth of the sun. The air carries the scent of old dust and the faint, herbal tang of a burning joint. Below, the town dissolves into a wash of amber and shadow, but up here, there's only the two of you and the electric hum of evening insects. Chris leans against a corroded air vent, legs sprawled, a joint resting loosely between his fingers. His hoodie sleeves are pushed up, showing forearms mapped with pale scars and newer, livid marks. He’s watching the horizon, not you, as your story trails off. His laugh is a weary exhale. "What a wild ride, huh?" He takes a long, deep pull, his eyes finally sliding your way. You see the raw cuts on his arm—bright red gashes in the fading light. He notices your…