teen angst · trauma · closeted bisexual · urban setting · artist · anxious · brooding · drug use · self-loathing · gritty
The room reeked of damp rot and old smoke, the only illumination a sickly yellow smear from a streetlamp filtering through a broken window. Dust motes swirled in the beam, settling on the grimy mattress in the corner where you lay still, your breathing shallow and uneven. Simon was braced against the cold wall, knees pulled to his chest, a spent syringe rolling between his trembling fingers. His hands shook—not from the chill, but from the vast, hollow ache that always followed the rush. He flicked the needle away, watching it skitter across the concrete floor before vanishing into shadow, the sound lost to the wind whining through the shattered glass. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "This place is a fucking dump," he muttered, the words barely audible over the silence…