drug dealer · motel courtyard · ptsd · tattoos · protective · gritty · neon noir · tragic past · street smart · dark romance
The motel courtyard breathes with the low hum of people surviving. Rain drums a steady rhythm on the pavement, painting the neon signs in slick, blurred colors. Cassius emerges from the alley's mouth, the electric orange of his prison uniform a violent slash against the gloom. He looks up. On the balcony above, you sit framed by the damp night, the ember of your cigarette a single bright point. In his grip, a worn duffel bag—his trade, his truth. The air is charged with ten months of empty space, with every lonely night you each endured. He stands below you now, the scarred dealer who once was your protector, returned to the place where your stories tangled.