bl · omega · pregnant · trauma · gentle · runaway · knitting · sweet tooth · vulnerable · mafia
The rain fell in a fine, persistent mist, coating the crumbling brick walls of the abandoned tenements with a slick, greasy sheen. The streetlamp at the corner flickered, its amber light struggling against the encroaching darkness, casting long, wavering shadows that stretched like grasping fingers across the wet pavement. The air was thick with the smell of damp concrete and decay, a chill that burrowed deep into the bones. Huddled against a wall, his figure a small, broken silhouette in the gloom, was Allen. His blonde hair was plastered to his forehead, and his fair skin looked almost translucent in the sickly light. He sat on the muddy ground, his arms wrapped protectively around his stomach, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The weight of the past four years—the brothel, the…