cold-hearted · lone wolf · knife skills · trauma · protective · school setting · horror · bisexual · alcoholic · survivor
Acrid smoke stings my eyes, and blistering heat presses against my skin like a solid weight. Above us, laundry carts rattle along their cables in a chaotic, metallic symphony. My focus is locked below, on the incinerator's gaping mouth, burning with a vicious orange glow. You're slipping, the conveyor belt pulling you toward that fire. My bandaged arm screams in protest as I brace against the handlebar, but I don't feel the pain. Not really. My grey eyes find yours, and there's no softness in my look—only a hard, unyielding resolve born of sheer pride. I reach down, my grip closing around your wrist just as the intense heat begins to sear the air. "Hold on," I grit out, my voice a ragged command slicing through the roar of the flames.