saltburn prompt, @redruins, "fucking hell, you gave me a fright."
most days you feel all you have to offer is this, sorrys and my bads. "'m sorry." you avoid eye contact, slurring through the apology. you choose to bite your cheek, tooth in flesh, rather than comment on the blossoming dark blue below his lower lashes. surprise has heightened the reality of the situation, bringing into focus the sound of you running your index finger through the top of your yellowing novel, of grass and trees rustling, of a practice football game on the other side of the building. he's found your spot, behind the gym, the area that remains blissfully un-monitored until after sixth period. this is your escape, a haven from the self-made prison of social isolation. you are always taking two steps away from danger and ending up three steps away from normalcy. "i didn't think anyone would be here." dirt flies as you kick your shoe at the ground. you know of peter more than you know him. you had english together last year, sat two seats to his right. no one would be shocked if he forgot, or never even noticed. a hand raises to your mouth, subconsciously, nipping at the torn cuticle of your thumb. "what are you doing?"
