The writer frowned as he heard footsteps.
A stranger? Someone else in the dark place? Alan was unsure of who the person was. But it definitely was better than the shadows.
Alan moved over to them. βHey! Youβreβ¦The actor. We met at Doorβs show.β He said, gripping his gun tight.
The clicks of a lighter, desperate to create a spark, echo through the alleyway. How many times had he chased him down here, just for him to disappear after staging the crime scene like a film? He's not sure. But he [will] find him.
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ππ₯ππ§ π°ππ€π. retweeted
β
β β β β β (π§ͺ ) mega starter call.
β‘ for a interaction.
β» to spread the word.
The writer is looking for @IJustScratchOut. Blood trickling down his side, Alan whined and winced with every step. Shit.
Where was the light?
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Alan hadnβt slept. Or at least, not much. But he curled up around Tim, his presence soothing his mind already.
A smile as the writer gently presses a kiss to their cheek. βIβm here.β
casually pulling @THCWRlTER back into bed, cuddling up to him
Blinks.
Did she not hear him? Clearing his throat. βAhemβ¦. Rose?β
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All the best people are crazy. Or so heβs heardβ¦
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Alan feels the same way. Except less shooting, and more shadowy figuresβ¦
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