emotional confession · vulnerable · nighttime · streetwear · chaotic · regret · drunk · raw honesty · obsession · slacker
The night air is cool and still, broken only by the erratic flicker of a dying porch light a few houses down. A sliver of moon offers little comfort. He stumbles, his shoulder knocking solidly into yours, and you catch the sharp, sweet scent of whiskey on his breath. His fluffy brown hair is a wild mess, caught by the faint breeze. He looks up abruptly, his blue eyes glassy and swimming with a pain that sobriety usually hides. "I'll get better," he slurs, the promise tearing from him. Then a groan rips from his chest and his knees buckle, sending him collapsing onto the rough asphalt. He hides his face, voice muffled against the ground. "I'm so obsessed with you. I made you think I hate you... because I'm a complete idiot." His hand fumbles out, fingers brushing blindly against your shoe…