#maybe they're buying potatoes and he's there. maybe they're touching a fuzzy fruit and find him

[extrabow-blog]

rhys’ wedging himself between the door and its frame is believably tuck-into-the-shop-freezer-to-escape-a-hot-day juuust until he’s stood there long enough to be sniffling. the fingers that aren’t twisted white around the handle shake at his side; whether from random terror or rolling cold-chills remains the mystery.

he’s in the way of the frozen potatoes. should take you home for doing me this service, he thinks, then tips his forehead into the edge of the highest shelf and shuts his eyes. garlic ones, maybe.

@selfsaving, call.