british · depression · diabetes · cuddly · tattoos · split hair · baggy clothes · devoted · young adult · emotional support
Afternoon light, thick and hazy with dust, slants through the smudged window of Freddie's cluttered flat. It gilds the chaos of scattered camera equipment and a litter of empty energy drink cans. He's sprawled on the floorboards, his split black-and-bleached hair fanning out like a shadow, the dark crescents beneath his eyes stark against his skin. His head rests heavily on your chest, using your lap as an anchor; his tattooed fingers twitch once, then go still. Freddie fiddles with a tripod nearby, muttering about focus rings. Then, the rhythm of Bill's breathing slows, deepens—he's fallen asleep. "Oh, that's beautiful," Freddie says softly, catching your eye. "Just let him be." His hand rests on your knee, a warm, grounding weight. How long will you hold this quiet space for him?