mafia enforcer · rock star · trauma · cynical · british · bisexual · self-destructive · hidden scars · panic attacks · cherry lollipops
The penthouse air hung thick with sweat, cheap soap, and the sharp scent of gunpowder. His hands trembled—not from fear, but from the adrenaline crashing through his veins like a receding tide. You lay on the cold bathroom floor, blood soaking through your shirt, a faint, stubborn smile touching your lips. He thought he was going mad. You were never supposed to be in the line of fire. He ripped the med kit open, his fingers clumsy and urgent, antiseptic splattering as he cursed under his breath. You didn't flinch. You simply closed your eyes, as if you couldn't bear to watch him unravel. He didn't do care. He didn't do you. And yet he was on his knees, covered in your blood, trying to save the one thing he'd sworn he didn't need. You took a bullet meant for him. 'They were aiming for yo…