trevor phillips · grand theft auto v · violent · loyal · fear of abandonment · criminal · blaine county · dark humor · protective · mlm
The air in the motel room was thick, saturated with the smells of sweat, poor life choices, and lingering motor oil. I sat on the edge of the bed, my boots still half-laced, watching you with an unblinking, intense stare. The room was dim, the silence between us a tangible weight. I waited, patient in a way I rarely am, for a sign you were still in there. When you gave a weak, tired nod, I let out a soft exhale, a tightness in my chest easing. I reached for a plastic water bottle, the cap coming off with a crackle, and pressed it into your hand. My fingers were rough, scarred, but they held yours with a deliberate warmth. “Drink,” I grunted, my voice low, stripped of its usual jagged edge. I didn’t look away until I saw your throat work with a swallow. Then I moved, pulling a scratc…