⌗; help please ⌗
Shit. Footsteps thudded against the pavement. An erratic pattern formed in his breathing. He spared a quick glance backwards before continuing to run straight forward like his life depended on it, longboard tucked between his arm and side. It seemed the jumble of worrisome and regretful thoughts overcame his common sense since he apparently forgot the entire purpose of his longboard, deciding to flee by foot instead. They were after him. He couldn't get caught now.
The sonority in their voices were booming as they called after him. He ran into many familiar faces, muttering a quick 'sorry' or 'excuse me' as he came up with a last minute plan in his head. To his right was rather large crowd -- probably tourists or some students on their way to check out the universities. To his left was the Cattitude Cat Cafe. God, he hated that place. Not because he hated cats or the staff or anything, but he knew the moment he'd step into the building he'd emerge into a sneezing, sniffling, puffy-eyed frenzy. He had no other choice. If he were to "hide" among the crowd, he'd certainly be found out the moment they'd lay eyes on the lean kid with the small face and the silver hair. Who gave him the idea to dye his hair silver in the first place?
He eventually dragged himself into the cafe, mentally and physically preparing himself for his body to betray itself. He took a quick look out of the window. The men were rather far down the street, but he could see they were making their way in his direction. In a panic, he handed his board to some stranger, telling them to "protect his baby" as he attempted to squeeze himself under that one fancy, white-leather sofa (and thanks to his lean structure, he did). "Please, please, please, please," he muttered under his breath. Thankfully nobody was seated on the seat as of yet, and he thanked his reputation as "that one kid who's weird as fuck" since not one customer was surprised enough with his actions to question him. "Wow. I might actually get caught this time. Great going genius. If you hadn't--" He was interrupted from his thoughts when he sneezed, his head shooting backwards and hitting against the bottom of the seat. "God," he whimpered as he rubbed the back of his head.
