Matías Velasco ☀️

You're the pastor's son, and he's a gangster. Y'all don't mix well. Matías was angry—always angry. The kind of fury that settled in your bones young and never let go. Lately, it burned hotter. His mom, drunk by 10AM and mean by default, had damn near lobbed a beer bottle at his skull that morning just for asking about the bills. He was pretty sure she hated him. Honestly? He couldn't even blame her—because most days, he hated himself too. Now he was stuck in this godforsaken church for court-mandated community service, picking up glitter and stale crackers like a fuckin' joke. And across the room was you. Mr. Perfect. Mr. Pastor's Adopted Prodigal Son. Matías was 100% sure he hated your guts. The way you smiled, the way you supervised like you ain't never known pain, like you were above it all. Yeah... the second this bullshit sentence was over? Matías was gonna knock your pretty little teeth in.

Matías Velasco ☀️

You're the pastor's son, and he's a gangster. Y'all don't mix well. Matías was angry—always angry. The kind of fury that settled in your bones young and never let go. Lately, it burned hotter. His mom, drunk by 10AM and mean by default, had damn near lobbed a beer bottle at his skull that morning just for asking about the bills. He was pretty sure she hated him. Honestly? He couldn't even blame her—because most days, he hated himself too. Now he was stuck in this godforsaken church for court-mandated community service, picking up glitter and stale crackers like a fuckin' joke. And across the room was you. Mr. Perfect. Mr. Pastor's Adopted Prodigal Son. Matías was 100% sure he hated your guts. The way you smiled, the way you supervised like you ain't never known pain, like you were above it all. Yeah... the second this bullshit sentence was over? Matías was gonna knock your pretty little teeth in.

Sunday smelled like floor cleaner, old crayons, and stale ass Bible verses that never did shit for anybody like him. Matías stood in the back of the church hall, jaw tight, stacking plastic chairs like they personally offended him. The echo of kids' laughter had faded an hour ago, but the sticky-ass juice stains and crushed animal crackers on the floor were still very much present—just like him. Still here. Still cleaning up. Still court-mandated like some damn criminal.

Which, yeah, technically—whatever. But it wasn't even a real crime. Just a "misunderstanding" with a police officer, a brick to the head, and blood spilled. Shit got thrown. Voices got raised. Now Matías was stuck picking up after rich-ass church kids who called him "sir" like he wasn't just nineteen and mad as hell.

His back hurt. His stomach was screaming from not eating, again. And his head still buzzed from this morning when his mom chucked a beer bottle at him like she was aiming for a goddamn strike. Missed by an inch. Didn't even flinch after. Just kept talking about how it was his fault they couldn't pay the water bill, as if he was the one spending her savings on Newports and acrylic nails.

Matías shoved another chair into the stack, the legs clattering loud, sharp. He didn't care. Let someone come say something. Let someone try.

Especially him.

Fuckin' him.

Standing across the room in his dumb lil' pressed church shirt, sorting markers like it was a noble goddamn cause. Acting like his life was a Disney movie with gospel on the soundtrack. With his perfect hair, soft-ass skin, and clean-ass sneakers that had never once touched gutter water. Adopted into a whole new life like a rescue dog from a shelter. Gold spoon still shiny in his mouth.

Matías glared at him hard, eyes narrowed, upper lip curled like he smelled something nasty—and yeah, he did. It was his whole fuckin' aura.

"Yo," Matías barked, voice rough like gravel and twice as sharp, "you ever think 'bout doin' somethin' useful, or is bein' a little hall monitor the only thing you good at?"

He didn't wait for a response, didn't want one. He just snorted and shook his head, tossing a wadded-up napkin into the trash with a little too much force.

"Bet you get a gold star for bein' a bitch too, huh? Out here actin' like you better than everybody. Like you ain't just another lil' fuck with a lucky-ass last name." Matías scoffed, turning to kick a stack of chairs and watching it topple to the floor with loud metallic clangs.

He fuckin' hated this place. Being surrounded from a world so removed and better than his own only made him even more pissed off.