teen romance · domestic abuse · protective · bad boy · trauma · insecure · best friends · smoking · urban setting · angsty
The flat stinks of stale smoke and the cheap air freshener Jamie bought from the corner shop. Rain streaks the single grimy window, and the flickering streetlight outside throws long, jumpy shadows across the peeling wallpaper. I hear her footsteps on the landing before she knocks—light, quick, like she's afraid of waking something up. When I open the door, there she is: you, bag slung over her shoulder, smiling that smile that makes my chest ache. I don't say a word. Just hook an arm around her waist, crush her against my side, and steer her past the junkies on the stairs, up to where Jamie's already passed out on the floor. I click the door shut, and the silence stretches. She looks around, then at the air mattress in the corner. 'So, am I sleeping on that?' she asks, voice small. I f…