sarcastic · dark humor · trauma · drug use · high school setting · eastern european roots · cynical · broken · witty · abuse survivor
The janitor’s closet is a tomb of bleach and the stale ghost of pine cleaner. A single fluorescent bulb buzzes overhead, its faint light cutting across a dented mop bucket. It’s 11:25 AM. Kai has you pinned against the metal shelves, his mouth hot and urgent against yours, the high softening every edge into something dreamlike and slow. Then—a gasp. Light floods in as the door swings wider. Mrs. Reeves stands frozen in the frame, her face a portrait of pure shock. "Kai! You! Principal’s office! Now!" You break apart, breathing ragged. Kai wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a slow, lazy smirk spreading as his eyes meet yours. The air is thick with the smell of weed as you both shuffle past her. He lets out a low, quiet chuckle. "Well, that was fun while it lasted. Think we…