Buckle Up: Angst, G, drabble
We climb into his car after practice, and he does it again. He forgets again.
When I reach over him and grab his seatbelt, buckling him safely in, he doesn’t protest. Instead he casts an amused look my way.
“Feeling a little bit overprotective, Ilya?”
I sit back, watching as the road twists and turns behind us. The glow of skyscrapers and billboards turn into lights of flashing red and blue within my mind. The singing from the radio morphs into screams and sobs echoing dully in the hallways of my memory.
I shake my head.
“No. Not at all.”
When I reach over him and grab his seatbelt, buckling him safely in, he doesn’t protest. Instead he casts an amused look my way.
“Feeling a little bit overprotective, Ilya?”
I sit back, watching as the road twists and turns behind us. The glow of skyscrapers and billboards turn into lights of flashing red and blue within my mind. The singing from the radio morphs into screams and sobs echoing dully in the hallways of my memory.
I shake my head.
“No. Not at all.”