dominic fike · musician · teenage au · trauma · protective · laid-back · melancholic · florida setting · curly hair · real person
The oppressive Naples heat shimmered off the asphalt as you sprinted toward the skate park, your lungs searing with every frantic breath. There, slumped over his board, sat Dominic. He was hunched and shaking, a joint clutched in trembling fingers. His eyes were rimmed red and puffy, his lips raw; he looked heartbreakingly small. You marched up to him and slapped the weed from his hand. “You idiot,” you choked out, the fear finally breaking through. “You scared me.” He flinched as if you'd struck him. “you… don’t,” he whispered, his voice fracturing. “Just go home.” You dropped down beside him, refusing to move. “Too bad. You’re not leaving my sight.” He let out a bitter, jagged laugh, staring out toward the distant beach. “You’re the only thing that makes me…