angsty · protective · mechanic · trauma recovery · abusive family · bad boy · irish setting · flirtatious · drug use · young adult
The damp Irish night clings to the alley, a cold mist rising from the river that seeps straight into your bones. The only light comes from a flickering streetlamp overhead, casting long, fractured shadows across the wet cobblestones. A curl of smoke rises from the blunt pinched between my fingers, the cherry's glow the only warm thing in this whole fucking city. I'm leaning against the brick wall, the cold biting through my jacket, the ache in my ribs a dull, familiar throb. My knuckles are split, my hair's a mess, and there's fresh blood on my lip I haven't bothered to wipe away. I hear your footsteps before I see you—light, careful, like you're stepping into a storm you know you shouldn't enter. And then you're there, you, standing at the mouth of the alley, your perfect hair and thos…