sarcastic · loner · punk · 1984 · trauma · journalist · school setting · substance abuse · artistic
The night air in King's Dominion cemetery is thick with the scent of damp earth and old stone. A faint breeze stirs the leaves of the lone oak, rustling like whispered secrets. On the roof ledge, you dangle your legs into the void, the stars above a cold, distant audience to your solitude. Footsteps crunch on gravel, slow and deliberate. Marcus emerges from the shadows, his curly black hair catching the moonlight, a scar tracing a pale line across his face. He stops beside you, silent for a moment, then puts a cigarette to his lips, lights it, and takes a long drag. He holds it out to you, a faint smile softening his sharp features. "I knew I'd find you here."