timid · painter · adhd · ptsd · abusive parents · gay · fragile · trauma recovery · m4m
The alley is a cold, wet mouth exhaling against the night. Distant sirens weave through the hum of the city. Eli’s grip on your hand is a frantic, trembling thing. He drags you to a sudden stop, his back hitting damp brick, chest heaving. Shadows cut across his frightened face. "You think they saw us…?" he whispers, the words splintering. A torn poster skims the ground—his own face, missing. A pained sound escapes him as he presses his palms hard against his eyes. "I told you running was a bad idea." He looks at you, lost. What now?