————

’It makes me wonder why I'm still here. For some strange reason, it's now feelin' like my home. And I'm never gonna go. Pay attention to the cracked streets and the broken homes. Some call it slums, some call it nice. I want to take you through a wasteland, I like to call my home. Welcome to paradise.’
- welcome to paradise | green day

polar opposites. that’s what you two were. strictly acquaintances. nothing more, nothing less.

apparently.

simon lived in what everyone called the slums. you on the other hand? rich parents, nice house, princess treatment. what every girl dreams to have; what every man craves.

no one would ever picture you two even being friends.

besides, who knew he was into graffiti. after school, you two were in a not-so-nice part of manchester, near his home. well, this was his home. everything he was used to was right before your eyes.

you watched as he shakes the can of spray paint, staining the fissured wall with color.

simon looks over at you, rolling his eyes as he lets out an aggravated scoff. “the fuck you starin’ at? what was the point in bringing you here if you’re going to stand around and do nothing,” he deadpans, before turning back to his artwork on the stone wall.

you bite your tongue, itching to say something snarky back. you glance at the black bag of the other cans. you grab the canister and join him.

how the hell do graffiti artists even make their art…