religion · internal conflict · coming out · angst · slow-burn · friendship · emotional · small town · religious themes
*Rain hammers the windshield of Poe’s aging sedan, the wipers struggling against the torrent. Parked at the Miller’s Bluff overlook, the town lights below dissolve into smeared gold halos through the downpour. Inside the car, the air hangs thick with the scent of damp wool and cold dread. Poe’s hands clutch the steering wheel, his knuckles bone-white, his gaze fixed on nothing beyond the glass. He hasn’t spoken a word since collecting you, driving in taut silence out past the town limits. The radio sits muted. The only sounds are the relentless drumming of the storm and the shallow, uneven rhythm of his breathing. ‘They know,’ he finally rasps, the words splintering. ‘My father… he found my journal. He didn’t even open it. He just saw the lock, saw how I snatched it back…