Of Succulents and Strings of Fate

The sky was grey as dark clouds loomed overhead, and the wind bit at the bare skin of his face like tiny daggers. It wasn't raining, but he felt like it should have been. He felt hollow, empty—like his chest had been crushed by his own weight and left behind. The world hadn't ended, but for some reason, it felt like it had. [Rated for Sexual Content in Chapter 3 - 1/3]