I'll Be Here (2p!America x Reader)

Out Here in the Cold

You sat out in the cold. Longing for someone. Anyone. To come find and help you. You were only seventeen. You could barely drive. Now you were at the park, at night, in the cold snow. Your parents had kicked you out after finding your cigarettes. The last time they caught you, you'd told them that you would quit and it would never happen again. That was two years ago. It's not like it's your fault that you started smoking again anyway. Between the constant bullying you'd faced at school and your terrible relationship with your parents, it's no wonder you were a bit fucked up. It was starting to get colder now. You sat on a nearby bench and thought about everything. You had almost no friends, so you had no where to go. Your eyes started to water and you let a small tear slip out.
"No," you thought. "I can't cry. Not here."
Your parents had always taught you that emotion equals weakness. How idiotic of you to let yourself cry. This whole situation was your fault anyway. At least that's what you thought.
You decided that since there was no where else for you to go, you would have to sleep on the park bench. You knew that you would have to eat eventually. You pushed everything out of your mind and tried to sleep. You suddenly felt a presence of someone. Like someone was watching you. You stood up and looked around in the darkness. Nothing. You told yourself that you were just paranoid. Then you felt a cold hand on your shoulder. You jumped up in fear and found yourself looking at a man. He was intimidating, with tattoos covering his arms. He was surprisingly small though. He looked as if he were barely 5"8. He was pretty skinny also, but you could tell that he had muscle and could probably beat you up if he wanted to. His hair was a dark brown with a red tint to it. He had dark sunglasses covering his eyes. He had several piercings on his face. His skin had a dark complexion and you could tell he was from Mexican heritage. In his hand, was a baseball bat with bloody nails sticking out. You noticed a blood stain on his white undershirt, which was covered by a black leather jacket. You guessed he was maybe seventeen or eighteen, around the same age as you. He looked down at you and smiled. He said in a heavy New York accent,
"Ay watcha doin out here in the cold?"