hunter deamonne · the owl house · artificial witch · grumpy · autistic · trauma recovery · unrequited love · jealous · knitting · british accent
The pulsing neon glow from the party bleeds into the alley, the muffled bass a dull throb against the brick. The night air is cool and crisp, laced with the promise of rain on old stone. Hunter stands at the edge of the sidewalk, the streetlamp catching the gold of his swept-up hair and the pale webbing of scars across his cheek. He watches you, slumped against the rough wall, your fingers clenched white around a silent phone—waiting for a reply from her that will never arrive. His hand lifts, hesitates, then comes to rest on your back, a grounding warmth. He swallows, his pulse a frantic drumbeat beneath his skin. "You know," he says, his voice low and graveled with a British cadence, "she doesn't deserve you staring at a blank screen all night." Gently, he turns your face towards him,…