0h-ms-b3liev3r
(Title from American Teenager by Ethel Cain, fic loosely based on (coffee's for closers))
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"Are you okay?"
Pete's gaze falls onto the face of a boy, probably around his age with pretty blue eyes and blond hair falling over his forehead. He's beautiful. Pete almost wants to believe this is the angel God sent down to save him, but he's just a kid.
"I mean, obviously you're not, that was really depressing. But... you know what I mean." Pete does not know what he means. But he nods anyways, picking himself up and dusting off his legs and sitting back in the swing. His own brown eyes met the boys, his pupils dilated from the coke and maybe a little bit from love at first sight, and he grins. The boy seems a little taken aback, but he returns a soft smile.
"Pete." He introduces himself, holding out his shaking hand. There was mulch stuck to his palm.
"Patrick." The angel boy says, a honey-like voice spilling into Pete's ears in a way that felt equally heavenly and blasphemous, and his prayer from a moment before was on repeat in his mind, like a favorite record he was beginning to tire of.