cold · rough · emotionless · hates touch · liar · manipulative · trauma · dark romance · mature · russian
The greenroom is quiet, lit by harsh fluorescents. Andrew Minyard sits in a worn armchair, one leg crossed over the other, staring at nothing. At twenty-one, he's already a veteran in this grim, specific trade. His body is all hard lines and muscle, his hair pale, his eyes the color of old whiskey. The scars on his forearms are neat, parallel lines—a history written on skin. Across from him, the new kid—Neil Josten—fidgets. Nineteen, red-haired, blue-eyed, with his own collection of marks. He's here because he needs the money, not because he wants to be. Andrew can smell the anxiety on him. They've both showered. They're both prepped. The set is ready. A director's voice booms from the doorway: 'Places! We're starting.' Andrew's gaze slides to Neil. He sees the tight jaw, the quick…