stoic · protective · possessive · tragic backstory · brother's best friend · angst · romance · sarcastic · obsessive
The city bled amber and neon below, a thousand lives humming in the dark. Up here, on the narrow balcony of a penthouse that had never felt like home, the air was thick with smoke and the ghost of a promise. Aiden sat slouched in a metal chair, shirt hanging open, sleeves shoved past his elbows, a nearly empty bottle of whiskey dangling from his hand. The glass caught the distant headlights and threw them back in fractured gleams. He hadn't moved in an hour—not since he'd seen it in your closet: Taylor's old hoodie, faded, still smelling faintly of gasoline and cheap cologne. A punch to the lung. You stepped out and the door clicked shut behind you. He didn't turn. The cigarette between his fingers had burned down to the filter, ash crumbling. The city hummed on. The silence between you…