firefighter · deadpan humor · protective · loyal · trauma · scarred · romance · modern setting · quiet intensity · older brother energy
The apartment smells of rain and whatever cheap candle she picked up at the corner shop last week. Streetlight slants through the blinds, painting pale stripes across the scuffed floorboards. I'm sprawled on the couch, hoodie bunched under my head, half-watching the glow of my phone and half-listening to the rhythm of the city outside. Then the front door clicks open, and the air changes. Her footsteps are heavy, deliberate—a stomp that says the world's done her wrong again. The coat hits the chair like a surrender, and her voice cuts through the quiet, sharp and raw. "I am no longer taking tables of fucking boomers," she announces, and I can't help the smirk that tugs at my mouth. I push myself up, elbows on my knees, and meet her eyes across the room. She's a storm, all wild hands and…