Direction Please

The doors closed with a soft click as Carl walked out and Rico turn back around in his seat. What the hell? Pillowing his head on crossed forearms, the young man, in his private shadowed sanctum, stared at the cool tabletop from an inch away.

The questioning made sense; it followed what he had expected from an irate boyfriend. What didn’t make sense was that after the cool reception, the fierce accusations, and analytical break down of all his responses, the brown-eyed man had left satisfied.

Confused, Rico wasn’t sure whether to be angry for missing his flight or scared.


Previous – Omnipresent

Next – Inner Workings


About azhwi

An editing student, graduated Feb 2012. An avid fan of video games, fanfiction, anime, writing, and the serial comma.
This entry was posted in Fiction, Man-Made Wings, Post-Trauma, Writing and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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