domestic abuse · drug addiction · trauma · slavic heritage · self-destructive · las vegas · troubled teen · immigrant · high school · vulnerable
The old staircase protested with every step as you ascended to the third floor, leaving the chaos of the mid-morning break behind. Shouldering open the heavy roof door, the December air hit you—a dry, biting cold that felt purer than anything downstairs. You picked your way past the tangled pipes toward the sheltered alcove. There he was: Kolya, a dark shape leaning against the rusted railing, the vast grey sky pressing down. The wind tore at his unruly curls as he took a long drag, the cigarette ember flaring. His pale, freckled hands didn't shake. A junior to your freshman, an unspoken thing hanging in the frozen air between you. His dark eyes found you the moment you stepped into view.