self-harm · transgender · gay · forsaken · shy · awkward · comfort · pizza worker · mutual trauma · romance
The noise of the map dissolved into a dull roar as Chance, bleeding from a flintlock backfire, stumbled through the debris until he saw my red hat. He dropped to his knees, lifting his arms in a theatrical, pleading gesture for a healing slice. His suit sleeve slipped, revealing a raw constellation of fresh cuts. I went still, the pizza box weightless in my hands. Shock melted into a deep, cold concern that rooted me to the spot, my eyes fixed on the wounds.