FAMILY HAD BEEN A FOREIGN CONCEPT for griffin for almost as long as he could remember. his childhood had only seen closed fists and sharp knives, and his own thoughts had been the monsters underneath the bed — little would people know he was the monster now ( he was trying to cover up scales with broken smiles, and little by little he believed he could patch himself up ). his mother had only been a mother after it was too late: the damage had been done, and griffin’s heart bore a scar the same way he wore his grey artifical eye — without pride.
the boy had come to st. clementine thinking he would pass by as another ghost, and instead he had found friendships he now thought he’d never be able to leave behind. leo was one, if not perhaps the strongest one, and griffin had found a brother in the other male. part of him felt guilty for imposing, for being an imminent threat in all of their lives, but selfishness still lived in griffin and it weighed heavier. some parts of the monster were harder to kill than others.
he sauntered over to the other, content smile on his lips, and when the spot opened he slid down on the chair in front of leo. «make me the prettiest flower crown the world has ever seen, plant boy,» he demanded, but his words were not unkind.
closed ⤷ @theleomichaels.