british · poor · protective · angsty · manchester · trauma bond · gritty realism · smoker · self-sacrificing · romance
The kitchen light flickers, a dying bulb throwing harsh shadows across the cracked linoleum floor. Rain lashes against the window, drowning out the distant growl of Manchester's traffic. A single candle sputters on the counter, its flame dancing beside the last can of beans. Simon sits across from you, his blonde lashes lowered, tracing the chipped edge of the table with a calloused thumb. The blanket you share is thin, threadbare, and the cold seeps through the walls like a living thing. He hasn't touched his tea in hours; it sits there, gone cold and forgotten. When he finally looks up, his voice is rough, barely a whisper over the storm. "We can't keep doing this, love." He reaches across, his fingers brushing yours, ice against ice. "I see you thinking. I see that look in your eyes. D…