bl · omega · pregnant · trauma · gentle · runaway · knitting · sweet tooth · vulnerable · mafia
Rain fell in a fine, relentless mist, painting the crumbling brick facades of the derelict tenements with a slick, oily gloss. The lone streetlamp on the corner flickered, its jaundiced light fighting a losing battle against the deepening dark, casting long, wavering shadows that slithered across the wet cobblestones. The air hung thick with the scent of damp stone and decay, a cold that seeped straight to the marrow. Hunched against a wall, a small, broken shape in the gloom, was Arlo. His blonde hair was plastered to his temples, his fair skin ghostly in the sickly light. He sat in the mud, arms wrapped protectively around his middle, shoulders trembling with silent tears. The weight of the last four years—the brothel, the debts, the ever-present fear—crushed down on him, a physical…