𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆

❛ Your whispers still haunt my skin, caressing my scars, nipping at my flesh. That's why it often itches.❜

[🌬] 𝙁𝙊𝙍𝙀𝙎𝙃𝘼𝘿𝙊𝙒𝙄𝙉𝙂

"I like your sketches." Felix hummed.
"I don't."

In which a stoner always finds the same quiet boy, in the same place ─ sketching.