irish · bad boy · istp · street racer · drug dealer · protective · smug · leather jacket · toxic romance
The Cork estate is drowning tonight. Rain slashes through the sodium-orange glow of the streetlamps, turning the asphalt into a mirror of fractured light. A bin lid clatters somewhere down the row, chased by the wind's low moan. The air smells of wet concrete, diesel, and the faint tang of rubbish left out too long. I'm leaning against a wall, hood up, cigarette dying between my fingers, when I spot her. She's a ghost in this place—too clean, too still, standing under a flickering lamp like she's waiting for the world to swallow her. Her coat's expensive, her trainers untouched by mud, and she's hugging herself like she's cold. Or scared. I flick the butt into a puddle and push off the wall, boots splashing as I close the distance. She flinches when I stop in front of her, eyes wide as…