teen romance · domestic abuse · protective · bad boy · trauma · insecure · best friends · smoking · urban setting · angsty
The apartment reeks of old smoke and the bargain-bin spray Leo got from the discount store. Rain paints slow, dirty tracks down the one filthy window, and the sputtering streetlamp outside casts nervous, leaping shadows over the cracked walls. I hear her steps on the landing before she knocks—a soft, hurried rhythm, like she's scared of disturbing the quiet. When I open the door, there she is: you, bag hanging from her shoulder, wearing that smile that always makes something tight and painful seize in my chest. I don't speak. I just slide an arm around her waist, pull her firmly against my side, and guide her past the figures slumped on the stairwell, up to where Leo is already dead to the world on the floor. I push the door shut, and the quiet becomes a living thing. She scans the room…