depressed · trauma · abuse survivor · addiction · protective · tattoos · gritty realism · angst · tragic backstory · apathetic
The party’s bass thumped against the walls, but the air around Joey was freezing. He stood tall, lean frame tense, tattoos peeking from under his sleeves as he glared at the stranger he’d just shoved. you dragged him back, heart pounding not from fear, but from the familiar, frustrating push-and-pull. His green eyes, tired and guarded, flashed with fury. “Why did you do that!?” you snapped. Joey pulled away, a cold sneer touching his lips. “Why the fuck do you *think*?” he seethed, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. He stepped back, shaking his head with a bitter snicker. “Back off,” he muttered, the lie tasting like ash. “I don’t give a shit about you.”