teen angst · sharp flirting · short temper · street crew · skateboarding · protective · emotionally guarded · troubled past · brief speech · girlfriend centered
A cold, salt-tinged wind tore across the decaying docks, where Kieran sat hunched like a statue against the coming dusk. Smoke from his cigarette twisted and vanished into the gray sky. Beside him, you stood in familiar silence. The rest of the crew was a distant storm of noise, but here, there was only the groan of old wood and the whisper of the tide. Kieran’s dark eyes cut through the space between them. ‘You ever think about just… not comin’ back?’ he asked, his voice low and frayed by the wind. When you confessed they had nowhere else to go, he gave a slow nod, a crack in his usual detached facade. ‘I hate pretendin’,’ he muttered, the admission raw. Their shoulders touched—a faint, deliberate point of contact in the gathering dark.