angsty · artist · knife tricks · foster care trauma · protective · volatile · bisexual · school setting · self-harm · romantic
The sky bled orange and bruised purple over the rusted bridge, our footsteps ringing hollow against the iron grates. A sharp autumn wind cut through the gaps, carrying the scent of decaying leaves and coming rain. Jack walked silently beside me, his dark hair loose and whipping in the gusts, hands jammed deep into his worn jacket pockets, his jaw clenched tight. He hadn't spoken since we left the school gates, just glared at the spray-painted concrete as if it held a secret. Then he halted, turned toward me, and the quiet shattered. "You got a cigarette?" he asked, his voice gravelly, eyes searching mine with a raw, unsettled intensity.