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Tony S.

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  1. Tony S.

    Three Days

    Tony S. commented on Tony S.'s story chapter in Three Days

    Thank you so much. I'm also not British though lol. However I read a lot and I do some research to make the story as realistic as possible. I am glad you find it covincing.
  2. Tony S.
    The news came on a Tuesday, in the narrow hallway between the second and third floors, where the paint peeled in long curls and the stairwell always smelled faintly of damp. Kitt had just finished his morning shift at Javier’s. His hair was still damp from the steam of the kitchen, his fingertips wrinkled from dishwater, his shoulders aching in that dull, familiar way. The landlord had been in a mood downstairs, shouting at someone about noise and late payments. Kitt had taken the stairs tw
  3. Tony S.
    Kitt woke slowly, drifting up from sleep like someone swimming through warm water. The first thing he felt was the heat — a body pressed along his back, an arm draped lazily over his waist, the steady rise and fall of breath against his neck. For a few seconds his mind stayed soft and unfocused. The bed was warm, the blankets soft, the world safe in a way he wasn’t used to anymore. Then—mortifyingly—he felt the second thing. His own body. Pressed flush against Mateo’s hips. Hard.
  4. Tony S.
    Morning settled over the Everest house in a slow, honey-gold light, softening the frost on the windows and casting long bars of warmth across the kitchen floor. The house smelled faintly of coffee and dryer sheets. Eva flipped pancakes at the stove; Michael adjusted something under the sink, muttering in the familiar way pipes responded to. And then Matt came downstairs. He moved like someone trying—and failing—to hide a secret the size of the sun. His hair was a mess from sleep,
  5. Tony S.
    Riverbend eased into Sunday the way tired towns often do — slowly, with the faint hiss of mist lifting from the pavement and the distant thrum of a bus engine waking the quieter streets. Inside the apartment building, the radiators clicked and rattled, the pipes groaning like they resented being asked to work at all. Kitt stepped out of the shared bathroom blinking against the flickering fluorescent light — a towel draped around his shoulders, hair still damp, sweater clutched in one hand.
  6. Tony S.
    The sky dimmed around them in soft watercolor strokes—lavender bleeding into blue, blue fading into the quiet silver of approaching night. The dock creaked gently beneath their weight, lakewater lapping in slow breaths against the posts. The air smelled faintly of cold pine, sunworn wood, and the beginning of frost. Kitt lay half across Matt’s chest, cheek pressed over the steady drum of his heartbeat. Matt’s hoodie was warm beneath his skin, and his fingers traced aimless, loving lines up
  7. Tony S.
    The late afternoon light slanted low across Riverbend as Kitt stepped out of the diner, the bell chiming faintly behind him. The note the waitress had given him—Matt’s number scrawled in blue ink—felt like it burned through his pocket. His heart thudded unevenly, breath thin, each step carrying the weight of a thousand memories and one impossible question: What now? He walked without aim, letting the streets guide him. The town blurred—small stores, shuttered windows, the humming traff
  8. Tony S.
    Kitt wasn’t sure when the air in Riverbend had begun to taste different—lighter somehow, less sharp around the edges—but on the afternoon he sat at Tom’s dining table again, it felt real. November sunlight slipped through the windows in pale ribbons, catching on the papers Tom laid out between them. Harbor lay sprawled at Kitt’s feet, tail thumping lazily every now and then as if reminding him he wasn’t alone. Tom pushed a packet closer. “Okay,” he said gently, “we’ll start with the science
  9. Tony S.
    Morning crept in slowly, pale and unsteady, washing the ceiling of Kitt’s apartment in a thin gray haze. He blinked awake, breathing against the cold that lingered in the air—a cold that always felt sharper after nights where his thoughts ran too far or circled too tightly. For a few quiet seconds he didn’t move. He just stared at the letter resting on his nightstand, the soft morning light catching the edges of the folded paper. He reached for it without thinking, fingertips brushing the w
  10. Tony S.

    Eighteen

    Tony S. commented on Tony S.'s story chapter in Eighteen

    Sorry that there was a missing chapter (chapter 25). Now fixed. The next chapter, chapter twenty eight will be published tomorrow.
  11. Tony S.
    Late autumn settled slowly over Riverbend, the kind of season that felt like a long inhale before winter exhaled across the town. The trees had already surrendered most of their leaves, leaving branches bare and delicate against a sky that softened from gray to a washed-out silver each morning. Kitt walked through that quiet as he made his way to the restaurant, hands tucked deep into his jacket pockets, the cold brushing his cheeks with a whisper of the winter that wasn’t far behind. Insid
  12. Tony S.
    Kitt woke late the next morning, long after the weak winter sun had already crept across the cracked windowsill and settled into its unflattering position above the radiator. His eyes felt swollen, his throat sore, and his body heavy in a way that made it hard to tell where exhaustion ended and emotion began. For several seconds he simply lay still, staring at the ceiling and trying to locate himself in the world. His room was quiet in that particular Riverbend way — distant traffic humming
  13. Tony S.
    Kitt didn’t remember walking home. One moment he was in the restaurant restroom, knuckles pressed to his eyes, breath unraveling in sharp, uneven bursts— and the next he was letting himself into his apartment with hands that barely worked, the faded light of late afternoon smearing across the narrow hallway. He closed the door quietly behind him, as if making noise might shatter the fragile shell barely holding him together. The room smelled faintly of detergent from the laundry load T
  14. Tony S.
    The days in Riverbend had been warming and cooling in strange, uneven waves — warm afternoons followed by crisp evenings, the kind of seasonal in-between weather that made jackets feel unnecessary one hour and essential the next. Kitt adjusted to it because he adjusted to everything now. That was how survival worked. He worked the breakfast shifts at Javier’s restaurant, taking the early morning rush of dishwashing, mopping, wiping down counters, whatever Javier needed. And in the afternoon
  15. Tony S.
    Mid-October in Riverbend didn’t come with frost or breath-clouded mornings yet. Instead, it arrived in quiet, creeping shifts: the air a little sharper at dawn, the sun setting earlier each day, the river moving with a slow, thoughtful murmur as if the season itself were deciding how quickly to turn cold. The afternoons were still warm enough for kids to run outside in short sleeves, and the evenings still held a trace of leftover summer heat trapped in the pavement. But under it all, there was
  16. Tony S.
    I'm aware the pace is kinda slow but it's getting there soon. Thank you all for your support and patience. I hope you have enjoyed the story so far. 😉
  17. Tony S.
    Stephen Wellington had not meant to drink that night. He told himself he simply needed something to warm the hollow ache that had taken root beneath his ribs, something to quiet the echo of a front door slamming and the memory of his son’s eyes—blue and wounded and furious—as he disappeared into the snow. One glass of bourbon became two, then three, then something he stopped counting because acknowledging the number felt too much like admitting the truth: he was spiraling and didn’t know how to
  18. Tony S.
    Time did not stop for boys whose lives had cracked open in winter. It moved the way it always did—steady, indifferent—dragging everything with it. Snow melted off the roofs in Lakehurst and Riverbend, mud replaced ice, and then suddenly there were leaves and heat and the endless, humming stretch of summer. People went on buying groceries and paying bills and arguing on sidewalks. Buses kept running. The sun kept rising. None of it cared that one boy had run into the snow with nowhere to go and a
  19. Tony S.
    The winter in Riverbend was beginning to soften, just slightly, the kind of change that wasn’t obvious on the streets but made itself known in the way the air smelled—less like frozen metal, more like damp earth waking from sleep. Kitt adjusted the collar of his jacket as he stepped out of the youth center late one afternoon, the sky a soft lavender, the streetlights flickering to life one by one. His hands still smelled faintly of washable paint and cheap cafeteria pizza, the “official meal” th
  20. Tony S.
    Kitt’s days slowly grew into a rhythm—a demanding one, unsteady in places, but more structured than the chaos he had fled. Every morning, long before the streets thawed from the winter cold, he walked to the small Mexican restaurant tucked between a pawn shop and a barber. Javier had given him more hours—“You work hard, kid. I like that”—which meant Kitt spent most mornings in the steaming back kitchen, scrubbing metal pans still thick with last night’s oil, lifting stacks of plates fresh from t
  21. Tony S.
    Riverbend woke under a pale, washed-out sky, the kind of morning where even the snow seemed too tired to fall. Kitt felt better than he had the day before—better enough to stand without wobbling, better enough to shower, better enough to pull on the sweater Tom washed for him and tie his shoes without pausing to catch his breath. He was still exhausted, but he’d grown used to carrying exhaustion the way some people carried backpacks. He stepped out into the stairwell, ready to walk the two
  22. Tony S.
    Riverbend settled into evening the way it always did—slowly, quietly, like a town trying to disappear into its own shadows. Kitt walked home from his shift with his hands tucked deep in his borrowed sweater, breath clouding in the cold. His hair was damp from dishwater, his fingers sore from scrubbing, and his stomach aching with the weight of everything he couldn’t fix yet. The snow had thinned to a soft dusting, carried gently by the wind. Apartment windows glowed softly as he passed them
  23. Tony S.
    Morning in Riverbend always came with a certain heaviness—like the air itself hadn’t warmed in years. Kitt woke in the dim gray of early light, the cold biting at his nose even under the thin blanket. For a moment he lay still, staring at the cracked ceiling, letting reality settle around him in slow, unwelcome pieces. Another day here. Another morning alone. Another reminder that there was no going back. He changed into Tom’s sweater—soft, slightly oversized, smelling faintly of detergent
  24. Tony S.
    Riverbend mornings had a stillness to them, a kind of pale quiet that seeped through the thin apartment walls and settled over everything like a second layer of cold. Kitt woke one morning with that cold pressed against his spine, the mattress beneath him stiff, its springs biting faintly into his hip. He pulled the borrowed sweater closer around his shoulders and exhaled slowly, watching his breath bloom white in the dim room before fading into nothing. The radiator had clicked twice during the
  25. Tony S.
    Riverbend’s winter had a particular silence to it, Kitt noticed. Not the peaceful kind he’d known back in Lakehurst, where the snow softened the whole world and made neighborhoods hum with warmth. Riverbend’s silence was different—thin, stretched, almost tense, like a held breath. It seeped into the cracks of the sidewalks and the alleyways, the flickering lamps and crumbling apartment balconies. Even the river that split the town seemed quieter than water should be, moving slowly under the smal
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