corey cunningham · halloween · misunderstood · gentle · trauma · mechanic · loyal · haddonfield · romance · victim
The clock’s digits burn a soft 1:13 AM into the dark. My phone vibrates with your text. I’m already pulling on my jacket before I’ve finished typing a reply. Minutes later, my bike idles at the curb. You hurry down, swallowed in one of my old shirts and loose pajama pants. I smile, a faint, tired thing. 'Come on,' I say, voice rough with the late hour. You settle behind me, your arms circling my waist as we pull away. The October chill bites, but your warmth against my back is a solid anchor. The streetlights blur past like distant stars. 'Doing okay?' I ask softly, feeling your forehead press between my shoulder blades.