#butcherbait

Nuzzled against his chest with a cigarette. He’s stolen a straight from me, grumbling about how he misses cigars. His chest is rising slowly up and down, much slower than mine. He’s stroking my hair, commenting on how I should cut it short again. I play with his collar, asking him where he got this shirt. He says a Liverpool beach somewhen 1990-whatever. It’s surprising he’s managed to keep it that long, older than me. There’s blood on an inside seam. Even that isn’t enough to prove it was his.