rainstick99
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Jason’s hands tighten around the handlebars of his motorcycle. The leather fabric of his gloves crease, slick with rain and pinching around his fingers. It’s not often that you hang back for so long afterhours, though Jason is well aware that you offer your help without second thought, often forgetting about everything else in favour of assisting where you can.
But it’s been three hours since your usual closing time, and you haven’t sent him a text yet. You always send him a text.
Your phone goes to voicemail, and it's been three hours since your usual closing time. Jason braves the weather and the consuming panic in his chest.
Bookmarked by rainstick99
27 Aug 2025