survivn

Ghost looked up and felt the breath leave him as a man walked in. He hadn't seen him around before, not that that said much with him staunchly avoiding interacting with anyone outside his approved circle and hiding in the kitchen. 

The man was tall and well-built, slightly smaller than himself but just as sturdy. He wore a loose tank top and faded jeans showing off a lot of skin; skin that was tan and absolutely covered in tattoos. Brightly colored Neo Traditional patchwork covered each arm with ink swirling up his neck beneath a leather choker that had Ghost’s palms sweaty, fingers itching to yank on it. 

Ghost thought about his own sleeve of tattoos, the ones he got to prove to the world he was a man, no longer a scared kid. He wondered what good it really did him in the end. Deep down he knew he'd always be that scared kid, stuck yearning for a love he'd never receive. 

As Ghost’s eyes traveled up he noticed the hair, dark brown with the sides shaven and long messy waves cascading over his head creating an unruly mohawk that oddly fit him well. Ghost wondered idly if the man ever spiked it, wondered what it would feel like to run his fingers through the long waves, grasp and pull at the strands as he-

Nope. Not doing that. 

The man had a few piercings along his lobes, some small silver hoops accompanied by a tiny gold dagger forward helix and what looked like a sliver and gold explosion bursting from his conch. 

He finally approached the counter and Ghost didn't miss the slightly offset gait as he did. The man's smile was warm as he stopped in front of the bakery case. Ghost met his eyes, mouth immediately drying out at the intense icy blue hue that stared back at him. 

Though something about the way he stood felt familiar, the square of his shoulders and the set of his jaw, Ghost wondered if he was military too. 

"Hi there." The man spoke, a Scottish tilt coating his words, "I was gonnae ask for the sweetest thing here but I think that's you."

Ghost groaned internally, that was awful. 

"Bloody hell." Ghost mumbled under the mask. Next time Roach had an appointment he'd just close the bakery. The growing heat on his neck and beneath the mask was downright uncomfortable and annoying. 

The man tilted his head and Ghost quickly shoved away the thoughts in his head that viewed the action as cute. 

Ghost cleared his throat, "I'm not on the menu." He deadpans, trying to deflect any further advances despite the small part of his brain that feels warm at the interaction, the part that screams at him to engage the Scot further. 

All it earns him is a wolfish grin from the other man, “what a shame.” 

The sound of screeching metal startled him awake. He tried to pry open his eyes but one was stuck shut. His face felt wet, he breathed rapidly as he began to panic. What's wrong with his eye?

"Hey," A soft voice reached his ears and he desperately leaned toward it as he gasped for air. 

"You're going to be okay, kid but I need you to breathe for me. Can you do that?"

A gentle hand landed on John's chest, grounding him and helping him ease his breaths. "That's it you got it. What's your name, son?"

"J-john." The flashing lights and shrill sounds around him assaulted his senses and made his head swim. He was tired, he just wanted to go home. 

John blinked against the fog that had settled over him in his panic. Finally it cleared and he could see a firefighter silhouetted in the window. The car window, why was he in the car?

Where was he? 

"Wouldn't you know that's my name too. Most people just call me Price though. I'm going to get you out of there, okay?"

John nodded slowly something about the way Price spoke, full of familial warmth, sparked a sense of comfort in his brain. He tried to look around, look at the rest of the car but a hand on his chin stopped him. 

"Keep your eyes on me, son." Price spoke as he began prying the mangled car door open with his tools. "How old are you?"

"Twelve."

"That's cool, what kind of hobbies do you get up too?" Price finally pried the door away and knelt in front of John. 

John tried to look around again but Price stopped him. John's memory was slowly coming back. 

"Where's my mum?" He tried to turn but Price's grip was firm yet gentle as he guided John out of the car. 

"Where's da?" Tears welled in John's eyes but Price kept his hands on John's shoulders as he guided them toward an ambulance. 

"My sisters?" Price sat him down on the gurney, careful to keep himself in between John's eye line and the mangled car. Price knelt so he was eye level and tried to keep his features reassuring. 

"You were in a car accident." Price spoke slowly, carefully selecting each word so as to not startle the young boy. Price's soft eyes never left John's. "I'm sorry, son, they didn't make it."

The dam broke, John sobbed, loud gasping cries. Price instantly leaned forward and wrapped his arms around the young boy. Price's grip tightened with each shuttered inhale and he slowly rubbed his gloved hands over John's back. 

When John's breathing calmed down a fraction Price pulled away, setting a large hand on John's bloodied cheek. Price gently turned John's face to look at the gash over his eye. 

"We need to get you to the hospital so they can take a look at this cut. Do you have any relatives we can call?"

John just shook his head, another fit of sobs wracking his small frame. 

"That's alright." Price spoke softly as he wrapped his arms around John again. "I'll look after you. Everything will be okay. I've got you, John."

I had writers block for the next chapter of A Moth to a Flame so here’s this instead :)