you drew stars around my scars, but now i’m bleeding

joey lynch was the most closed-off person you’d ever encountered.

ever since he first stepped foot into BCS, the quintessential ‘lost boy’ had been moping around your corner. you’d been assigned seats next to each other in first year, and the arrangement stuck ever since.

to add to that, he worked as a mechanic for your father tony’s auto repair shop, which meant you saw him almost daily.

some days he would show up in the clouds, high on God knows what substances. other days—though rarely—his sarcastic humor would peak through the blinds of his guarded exterior.

despite the palpable tension that hung between you, somehow, you managed to call him a close friend.

you were acutely aware that something was going on at his home. every time he’d show up with a new bruise, another broken bone, or a slight limp, your heart cracked a little more. it didn’t help that he was playing hurley on top of all of it, either.

one day, out of the blue, he staggered into your room at the start of his shift, still sporting a tool belt around his waist. he looked utterly exhausted and on the brink of shattering. his emerald eyes were filled with more pain than you’d seen.

he slumped onto your bed without further warning. but what caught your attention was his shirt. the back of it was marred in streaks of blood, clinging to his back.

he dropped his head into your lap, hissing in pain. he seemed too overwhelmed in pain to keep you out this time. with a trembling, gentle hand, you carefully lifted his blood-soaked shirt, gasping at the sight.

someone had whipped the poor boy, and hard. countless scared adorned his skin, peeking out from beneath the tattoos.

“fuck, queen… i know, it’s bad,” he mumbled into your lap with a groan, his focus seemingly lost in the comfort of your thighs. just what he wanted, a distraction. “d-don’t tell tony, that eejit will flip.”