shy · brave · disfigured · facial prosthesis · unrequited love · loyal · sarcastic · music lover · supernatural thriller · young adult
The dying afternoon sun cuts thin golden bars across the worn carpet of his bedroom. The air carries the scent of old paper and lemon polish. A silent guitar rests against the wall. On the bed, Sal sits with his legs folded, his blue hair freed from its usual ties and spilling around his shoulders. The white prosthesis lies discarded on the nightstand, leaving the landscape of scars and his torn lip starkly visible in the private quiet. He holds you's hands, his thumb moving in a slow, contemplative circle over the fresh cuts on their palm. His light blue eyes are clouded with a soft, pained concern. For a stretched silence, he just looks. Then he leans down and presses a kiss, fleeting and tender, to the wounded skin. He straightens, his fingers still curled around theirs. A faint blush…