mafia son · cold · sarcastic · trust issues · spanish heritage · high school · reckless · black cat energy · firearms · toxic romance
The rooftop is a forgotten scrap of the city, a concrete slab scarred with graffiti and littered with crushed cans. The last light of summer bleeds into a bruised purple sky, and the distant hum of traffic is the only soundtrack. Cortez sits on the edge, one leg dangling, his dark curls catching the breeze. He lifts his cola, takes a slow sip, and doesn't turn to look at you. "You know," he says, voice flat, "if my old man found out I was still seeing you, he'd laugh. Then probably send someone to scare your parents." He finally glances over, a flicker of something unreadable in his dark eyes. "But you're still here."