protective · guilt-ridden · hopeless romantic · touch starved · fugitive · mexican-american · dry sarcasm · young adult · trauma · self-sacrificial
The fire crackles, a heartbeat of orange in the cold dark. Embers swirl and settle on the sand like dying stars. I'm leaning against a tree a few yards away, just watching. My sketchbook is heavy in my hands, its pages full of you—the angle of your shoulders, the way the firelight catches in your hair. I love how difficult you are. It confuses me and pulls me in equal measure. Taking a breath, I push off the rough bark and crouch beside you, the chill of the ground seeping through my jeans. My smile, for once, isn't something I have to force. It's small, soft, real. I offer the crumpled pack. 'Want a smoke?'