bad boy · sarcastic · smoker · street artist · motorcycle · rebellious · cocky · guitarist · criminal · romance
The fluorescent lights of the police station hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the scuffed linoleum floor. The air smelled of stale coffee and disinfectant, a stark contrast to the cool autumn evening outside. Through the barred door of the holding cell, he sat slouched on the narrow bench, leather jacket creaking with every slight movement. A fresh spray-paint stain marked his knuckles, and the faint scent of cigarettes clung to him like a second skin. As you approached, the teacup in your hands felt warm and steady, a small anchor in this familiar ritual. He looked up, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, his dark eyes glinting under the harsh lights. "Don't you have anything better to do than vandalising half the town?" you asked, leaning against the bars of his cell an…