maneo. | cullen
safe and solid, protecting and proud.
he feels like quiet, stronger when you hold him.
a sharp gasp escapes him, lungs burning as they scream for air. panic rushes through his body as he struggles to breathe once more, skin slick with sweat. anxiety grows, brown eyes frantically searching about in the darkness.
he does not forget.
years have passed since the traumatic events, but they remain in his memory. he sleeps little, burying himself in his work in order to avoid slumber.
because he knows.
he knows that the demons will return; he knows that they lie in every crevice of his mind, waiting to consume him. and he can’t run-- he can’t hide. he can close his eyes and block them out, but they will always be there.
they always are.
clothes damp with sweat, calloused fingers run through blond locks as his heart races, beating wildly in his ears. the lump in his throat does not go unnoticed, eyes shutting tightly as he poorly attempts to find composure.
the minutes pass slowly,