dark alleyways

it couldn't be

I LOVE THIS CHAPTER

anyways

i just got done reading a fanfic

idk how anyone does it

i cried

the main character died

*sob*

ENJOY!!! THANK YOU FOR 35K READS!!!!!!

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"P-please..." George held tight onto the mysterious hoodie, of which belonged to no one. Just a void less face, void less body, but warm hands and a soft sweater. "Don't make me go back. Please, wh-whoever you are. I need this. Please..."

"You're going to be okay. I'll be here to save you. Just hang on. One more day. I promise. Keep being strong, keep staying true to yourself. He'll never have you permanently. I promise. Stay safe... Stay strong..." The obscure being spoke gentle, comforting words into the brunette's ear, and held on as if it were life and death Which, to be honest, it was. "I'll be there soon."

"D-do you mean it?" George glanced up, and made eye contact with eyes he felt should be there, but weren't. "I can't have-have any false h-hope anymore, it- it hurts, hurts worse than what they've been doin-ng..."

The mystery man wiped a tear from porcelain skin, and radiated the energy of a sad smile. He took the brunette's hands in his own, pulling away.

"I promise to you, my king." he kissed each and every one of George's fingers, one by one, and made the brunette smile.

"I'll be there for you, as soon as you can wake up."

Eyes opened. Water spilled quickly down his cheeks, and George sat up from his arched position in his stool.. Those quick dreams, so mysterious and hopeful, were all that kept him alive. His mystery comfort promised, promised with his life, promised George would be okay. In a day he'd be safe.

Well, remembering that it was a dream took a little credibility away, but it still meant something.

They say that dreams tell the future, right?

"Alrighty, Georgie!

"Today's a special day, my treasure." Brian lifted the shorter brunette's head by his chin with a scowl. "My oh my, you look like a skeleton! We really need to get on that... Anyways, today you get to have a full day without any physical torture!"

George's eyes brightened ever so slightly. After maybe three weeks of staying put in that stingy, miniature room, even the idea of leaving was intoxicatingly hopeful.

"And you'll get to have a real meal." the tall, 'cheery' man spoke. "Now, here's the catch; you have to tell us just one thing.

"Where did Dream happen to kill my father?"

"Y-your father?" George asked with barely a whisper, his broken spirit seeping into his words.

"Remember that fateful night you met my enemies? The man they killed that night was none other than Luciano Marchesi. My father, believe it or not! We'd just like to know where my old man is rotting."

"Uh..." the thin man spoke, finding that his deficiency was jumbling his thoughts. "I believe it was just off East Marilyn Drive, on the very furthest north side of Bonita Springs."

"Thank you, my dear!" Brian clapped excitedly, and untied the smaller boy, and George rubbed his blood-red wrists. "You'll be monitored by me, but you're allowed to eat actual food. As a reward... Hey, maybe I could give you my own reward later as well."

George had to ignore that last statement, and practically forget about the wink afterwards. Staying sane meant avoiding confrontation from the man. Brian would lose interest when George just left it be, and that was all that kept the brunette from pure, broken hopelessness.

But today was a wonderful day! Real food would mean he could think, could feel. Maybe he could think more about a way to escape. Not today, however. Never on a day of trust. Those days, there are guards swarming the premises like hawks crowding mice.

George kept close behind Brian as the two exited his confined room, not letting himself have a whole foot of distance. As bad as Brian was, his friends were worse. Constant glares or smirks were sent the boy's way, and George impulsively turned his attention to the floor, to his feet guiding him who knows where.

"Hey, Bri?" One of them beckoned, looking mischievously to his partner in crime.

"How can I help you, Mark?" The man who was called for responded, turning quickly and sharply towards the much broader, shorter man.

"Is your little doll over there for sale? I'll give you two hundred for an hour with him."

Fear and anger coursed through his malnourished veins, and for the first time in two weeks, George felt nothing but resentment.

"I'm afraid not," Brian coldly responded, "he is, I fear, a hostage. He will not leave his room without me by his side."

"Woah, chill out dude. I'm just trying to have a good time," the balding man winked slyly, "if you know what I mean..."

"George isn't for sale."

"Whatever you say, boss." The fat man threw his hands up in defeat and went back to his job.

What the experience for George's half-dead brain to pick apart. Being perceived as a prostitute never ended with a very fun time.

Oh well. At least he'll get food.

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At the end of the day, the meal he had was only sad, cold spaghetti and incredibly uncooked noodles, but it felt like a thanksgiving feast. (im american sorry not sorry <3) Not that he knew just what that was like. It was more like Christmas dinner, which was plenty familiar.

But that's besides the point.

The point was that George was rushed to his room because of a 'break in.' His skepticism was clear from the moment the mafia members tied him up, instead of simply locking him in the room. Who would, in their right mind, take all the time to ensure the brunette couldn't play around with a few torture devices? The break in talk was most likely a reason to get George 'back where he belonged,' as they called it, instead of just telling him blatantly that he had to go back.

But George was well fed!

His stomach felt as though the gaping hole that bled through his soul and made the large organ feel as though it were hurt was gone. Gone entirely. Like he'd never feel that horrible way again.

Although, deep in his soul, he suspected he would.

Suddenly, amidst his hopeless thoughts, loud alarms erupted above. They shrieked and cried like babies at three in the morning, and made the brunette beg his arms to reach his ears.

He couldn't handle the loud. Too much for his brain to process. It sent his thoughts into the clouds, rained them heavily from the sky, and came crashing down upon his weak body. Tears spilled surprisingly instantaneously, and kept at it until a voice was heard instead. His skull jerked upwards in a certain misunderstanding.

It couldn't be.

"George?!"

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ill start writing the next chapter rn

for yall <3

thanks again for reading

hope youre excited

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