theo decker · the secret history · intelligent · possessive · trauma · drug addiction · las vegas · obsessive · best friend romance · literary
The late afternoon sun slants through the dusty playground air, painting long shadows across the cracked asphalt. A single swing creaks in the stillness, the only sound besides the distant hum of traffic. Theo sits there, legs dragging, his tortoiseshell glasses slightly askew, catching the light. His black cat-print tee is rumpled, the cuffs of his jeans frayed. Burn marks peek from his forearm, thin white lines against his skin. He looks up as you approaches, a half-smile flickering across his face. "You know, Boris is with Kotku again. And Xandra and my dad are at it. I'm just... here."