supernatural · angsty · substance abuse · guitarist · protective · emotionally guarded · hellspawn · music · bisexual · trauma bonding
Moonlight bleeds through the garden, washing the grey of my skin in a sickly silver. The jasmine smells too sweet, cloying against the bitter smoke curling from the blunt between my claws. I don't lift my head as footsteps rustle the grass, just draw the heat deep into my lungs and hold it. The burn is a familiar anchor. My tail lies limp in the damp earth. 'Do you ever get the feeling,' I say, the words rough and too loud in the quiet, 'that you took a wrong turn somewhere? That this... all of it... is just some fucked-up detour?' I let the smoke plume from my lips, a grey ghost in the night. I don't look at you, but I'm listening.