the fire crackled and popped, sending little crimson colored pieces of ash floating into the air where they died out and vanished.

“m’ sorry.” lee said, breaking the silence between you two. he felt bad, for lashing out on you after your visit with your mother in the psych ward, even if you started it. he was willing to be your punching bag, if it meant making all of this easier for you.

he put out his cigarette, his worn out red converse rubbing against the gravel when he shifted his position to put his head in your lap. red locks tangled between your fingers like a lullaby, his rough calloused hands meeting your waist, and a heavy feeling on his chest - guilt.