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Tony S.

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  1. Tony S.
    Jet lag isn’t a clock; it’s a tide. It pulled me under and threw me back onto a schedule my body didn’t approve of. I woke before dawn with my heart already sprinting, the residue of dream still stuck to my ribs—gunfire with no muzzle flash, a radio full of ghosts, a voice that kept turning into Ken’s. The room was too new to hold it. I sat on the edge of the bed and let the air-con breathe for both of us, palms pressed together until the tremor chose a shape I could manage. By late mornin
  2. Tony S.
    Haha yeah Kent's father is American Japanese and mother is Thai Chinese. The setting this time will be in Bangkok! Stay tuned!
  3. Tony S.
    The gunfire always starts in silence. That’s the worst part—the nothing before the noise, the inhale that never ends. Then the alley folds inward, the dark burns white, and somebody screams my name in a voice that keeps changing—first the platoon sergeant, then a kid I carried to the bird once, then Ken, always Ken—and I’m running and not moving at all. My boots slide on blood I can’t find; the radio hisses like a snake I can’t grab. I shoulder a door that becomes a body that becomes my brother,
  4. Tony S.
    The lot is half-lit like a bad confession. Sodium lamps buzz, drawing a small galaxy of bugs, and the only other sounds are truck brakes sighing on the highway and a recruiter’s laugh that keeps trying to be casual and failing. The building has that government smell even from outside—cleaner and paper and the breath of too many early mornings. Ken parks crooked on purpose, like he wants to steal an extra inch of space from time. The coffee he hands me is wrong—two sugars, no milk. He knows
  5. Tony S.
    After losing his twin brother in a violent tragedy, a former U.S. Marine returns to his roots in Bangkok, hoping distance might quiet the past that refuses to let go. Haunted by memory, guilt, and a love he was never allowed to name, Kent struggles to rebuild a life that no longer fits the person he used to be. Across the hall lives Marvin—steady, observant, and patient in ways Kent doesn’t yet trust. What begins as proximity slowly becomes choice, forcing Kent to confront a different kind of fear: not losing the past, but moving forward without it.
  6. Tony S.
    I've finally caught up! I need a Ryan in my life. Please don't end it now. There's still so much more you can play around with. I need more! 😆
  7. Tony S.

    Thanksgiving

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

    To be honest, even when I wrote this story, I had to really calm myself and tried to think that Kitt came from a very strict family (especially his dad) so he was so indecisive and scared of everything. It annoyed me to a certain degree but I made it through lol
  8. Tony S.

    Thanksgiving

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

    Sounds like I need to find myself this story and read it!
  9. Tony S.

    Thanksgiving

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

    Thank you so much. Please look forward to my new work soon. Though I'm not sure if it will be able to top this one and it will probably bring even more controversy 😝
  10. Tony S.

    Thanksgiving

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

    I want to take this opportunity to thank you every reader. I don't normally interact with you guys via the comment section but I have read every single comment and it has been fun to hear your thoughts on the story. Thank you again for sticking with me until the very end. I hope Matt and Kitt will be in your memory for a long time. See you again very soon.
  11. Tony S.
    The first few days back in Lakehurst didn’t feel real—at least not to Kitt. Riverbend still clung to him like a second skin: the narrow apartment hallways, Mateo’s off-key humming drifting down from the third floor, the scent of lemon dish soap at Javier’s restaurant, Harbor trotting beside Tom on Maple Street, the clatter of basketballs echoing across the youth center parking lot. He had lived there long enough that those sounds had become home. And now he woke in his childhood bedroo
  12. Tony S.
    The Saturday before Thanksgiving started ordinary and wrong at the same time. Matt woke to the pale strip of light cutting across his ceiling and the smell of coffee drifting up the stairs. His alarm hadn’t gone off yet, but his eyes were open and his chest was tight, like something inside him had been tugged awake before the rest of him was ready. He lay there for a moment, listening. His dad moving around in the kitchen. A cabinet closing. The low murmur of the news on TV. Somew
  13. Tony S.
    By the time the week tipped toward Friday, Riverbend felt like it was holding its breath. Kitt felt it in small ways first. The way the sky seemed thinner in the mornings, washed out and pale, like someone had turned the color down a notch. The way the wind slid along the narrow streets sharper than before, pricking at his cheeks. The way sound carried differently in the courtyard of his building—an echo off brick that made things feel a little more hollow than usual. He woke on Wednes
  14. 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.
  15. 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
  16. 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.
  17. 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,
  18. 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.
  19. 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
  20. 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
  21. 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
  22. 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
  23. 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.
  24. 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
  25. 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
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