#bas: threads.

“I’m fine.” A lie sounds at home leaving their lips, something that should be more worrying than it is. With him, it’s softer, a sweeter version, something that was meant not to hurt, because with him, it was different. Not that they would ever admit that, but that was a different story, one that was only told at night, when they were left alone with their thoughts for too long. “I’m fine.” Repeated, even as the shirt was pulled over their head, and there was blood seeping through the cut on their side, right through the white undershirt, which in their opinion, made it look far more dramatic than it was. “Seriously, just need a blunt and a band aid.” That, was all they ever admitted to needing. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. There were so few options in the seconds that it was all happening that they were faced with a decision they hated making - one that might, god forbid, make someone think they actually gave a shit. To be clear, they did not, or at least it’s what they would say, despite the way that arm moved, fingers wrapped firm around their wrist and tugged, effectively pulling the other person with them just in the perfect time, or else the other would have been a victim of a particularly gnarly hit and run. “Watch where you’re going, or they’ll peel you off the street next time.” Charming, truly.

Even though they lived on their own now, they still kept the same occasional escapist habits left over from when their father was too much. Which, meant that they were currently attempting to lazily scale the building that had been abandoned for long enough to still be safe, but not long enough to worry about someone coming back for worldly possessions, at least they thought. This explained the surprise, an almost foreign emotion, that formed on features when they made it to the roof only to find someone else there. “Well fuck me.” They said, still a comical combination of confused and surprised.