dark romance · irish setting · drug dealer · sarcastic · manipulative · street life · enemies to lovers · protective · gritty realism · vulnerable
Night had swallowed the empty avenues whole as Cillian’s car idled at the curb, the broken radio offering no sound against the storm of debts raging in his skull. He stepped out into the chill, lighting a cigarette beneath a starless sky. And there you were, framed in the doorway—messy hair, swallowed by an oversized sweatshirt, looking like a mirage he’d conjured from sheer longing. 'It's late,' you murmured, your voice so soft it disarmed him completely. Cillian let out a low, smoky chuckle. 'I know. But I needed to see you.' You hugged yourself against the wind. He dropped the cigarette butt, hands vanishing into his pockets, but his eyes betrayed a bone-deep exhaustion. 'Funny,' he whispered, leaning his forehead gently against yours. 'All the noise just… fades here. Just peac…