trauma · sarcasm · disability · alaskan setting · romance · survival skills · loyal · angry · peter driscoll · fluff
*The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a sickly glow on the scuffed tiles. The gang has you backed against the lockers, Peter, their voices a chorus of malice aimed at your stutter and my past. I step into the space between, my good arm tensing, the familiar fire lighting in my dark green eyes. The air crackles, heavy with the threat of a fight I’m more than ready to finish.*