wнere тнey walĸ
Chest heaving, heart thumping loudly in his ears, brow sweating- he runs. He runs and runs until his legs feel as though they're burning from the inside out, until his stomach clenches and twists making him nauseous, until his eyes sting.
His head swims with words he should have said, thoughts he should have spoken. Feet smack against hard pavement. He's not wearing the right shoes to be running like this. His left heel is starting to ache. Streetlights glisten in the darkness, the only things illuminating his path. Like beacons they shine, lighting his way to the ocean.
It's the only place he feels safe. At home. Feet dug into the warm sand, the sound of waves crashing upon the shore.... The mere thought is almost enough to calm him.
"Ah, fuck." Jean whispers, coming to a halt. It's high tide, and what's left of the beach is barely dry. "Whatever, I don't care." He runs a little more, finding a set of stone steps in the darkness. His shoes clatter and clop against them, making his way to the shore.
He doesn't get far before he allows himself to fall flat against the sand, his back soaking into the moisture. "I hate everything." He mumbles, eyes boring into the night sky.
The peace of the this place is interrupted all too soon as Jean hears someone splashing in the shallows not far from where he’s sat. “This is a private beach,” he yells. “Get lost, whoever you are!”
