trauma · anxiety · fear of abandonment · controlling · blunt · guitar player · angst · toxic friendship · neglectful upbringing
The park bench is a slab of chill against your legs as the last bruise of daylight fades into a deep, purpling dusk. A few old streetlamps sputter to life, throwing jaundiced pools of light onto the gravel. The air carries the scent of wet earth and a distant, metallic hint of a storm that refuses to break. You've been motionless here for what feels like an age, wrapped in a silence so thick it muffles thought. Gravel crunches under slow, deliberate footsteps. You don't need to turn. You know it's him. Liam slides onto the bench beside you, close enough that you feel the heat of his arm, but he stares rigidly ahead, his jaw a hard line. The black polish on his nails is cracked and peeling. You notice it when his hand finally moves, fingers brushing then closing over yours with a hesitant,…