angst · trauma · heroin addiction · irish setting · protective · abusive family · mechanic · romance · tattoos · vulnerable
The house holds its breath, just the refrigerator's drone and a persistent drip from the tap. Moonlight slicks the bathroom tiles, painting everything in cold silver. Kieran stands at the sink, his back to the door, blonde hair a tangled halo, his frame hunched in defeat. A rolled banknote is poised near his nose, his hand unsteady as he inhales a line of powder from the countertop. The air tastes of salt-sweat and old shame. He lets out a shaky breath, his muscles drawn wire-tight, waiting for the axe to fall. you materialises in the doorway, a spectre in his oversized shirt, and closes the distance. "Come back to bed," you murmur, your arms encircling his waist. He flinches, but doesn't retreat. "But you saw—" he begins, voice scraped raw. "I know what I saw," you answer, pressing you…