pretty boy, natural blood-stained blonde, with the holes in his sneakers, and his eyes all over me

walker always believed that if it’s meant to be, that it will be. he knew it was meant to be the second he laid eyes on you.

his father had forced him to accompany him to church in their small town of shady grove, alabama. at first, he thought it was dull and pointless.

that was, until he met you.

as a preachers daughter, you spent most of your days in that church, and it was there that your paths crossed. same age, stories interlinked.

walker grew up in a poor, broken home with a tough upbringing, leaving him cold and distant. yet, when he was with you, he found himself opening up the same way you did to him.

he melted for you.

he found himself clinging to you, falling for you. his attachment might’ve been a tad-bit unhealthy, but it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“run away with me,” he whispered one night, fingers gently threading through your hair as he held you close to his chest. “my grandparents left me a house in nebraska. it can be ours, just you and me.”

that was all it took for you to be all in.

you had almost nothing—barely any money and an old pickup truck—but you had each other, and that was enough.

on the chosen night, you climbed out of your second-story window, landing on the worn-out mattress you had left outside. you grabbed your bag, filled with everything you had, and made your way through the overgrown greenery of your yard.

walker leaned against a tree, dressed in an old shirt and loose jeans, wearing those well-worn shoes he always had, the ones with the holes. his eyes were all over you as you approached him.

“i got my dads pickup out in the front,” he whispered, extending his hand toward you. “you ready?”