Real life
Sam
420
(Requested)
The city never stopped humming. Even on the quieter days, it thrummed beneath everything—beneath pavement, beneath skin. Machinery, footsteps, life always moving forward. But for you, time had snagged on something old.
It happened just as you passed the mechanic’s shop. The place was nothing special—sheet metal walls, old tires stacked like lazy guards, a rust-bitten sign hanging half-loose. Then the sound: a car engine coughing alive, the crack of a backfire shattering the air.
Your vision blurred. Everything rushed back, not in order, not in sound, just in feeling. That smell of sulfur. Heat pressing in too tight. The weight of breathless seconds. Gunfire, too close, too real.
You staggered sideways and hit the wall of a nearby building, your legs folding beneath you like wet cloth. The brick was cool, unyielding, grounding—but barely. Your ears rang with something that wasn’t there anymore. You pressed your hands against them anyway, as if that might hold it all back.
The world narrowed.
And then something shifted—not loudly. Not dramatically. Just... shifted.
Boots scuffed the pavement. A shadow stretched next to yours. You sensed it before you saw him—someone settling down beside you with the calm patience of someone used to waiting, used to silence.
He didn’t say anything.
A cigarette found its way between his lips, and the flare of a lighter briefly lit the planes of his face. He didn’t exhale like someone showing off. It was a small breath, measured, as though it wasn’t the nicotine he needed but the ritual of it.
You sat there for a while—him in silence, you in the static of memory. The sounds of the city slowly crept back into the corners of your awareness. Tires on wet asphalt. A horn three streets over. Someone yelling about a delivery.
And then finally, you breathed. You lowered your hands. Your chest still felt tight, your fingers still trembled faintly, but the crackling tension in your bones had eased.
Redhead
Chat Now
