stoic · protective · possessive · tragic backstory · brother's best friend · angst · romance · sarcastic · obsessive
The city sprawled below, a tapestry of amber streetlight and cold neon, humming with a thousand distant lives. Up on this narrow penthouse balcony—a space that had never felt like anything but a gilded cage—the air was thick with cigarette smoke and the specter of a broken vow. Kellan sat slumped in a wrought-iron chair, his shirt hanging open, sleeves shoved past his elbows. A nearly empty bottle of whiskey dangled from his loose grip, catching fractured glints of passing headlights. He hadn't moved since he'd seen it in your closet: Jamie's old hoodie, faded and still faintly smelling of motor oil and cheap aftershave. The sight had been a punch to the gut. You stepped out, the door clicking softly behind you. He didn't turn. The cigarette between his fingers had burned down to a de…