british · heart of gold · troubled past · substance abuse · friends with benefits · loyal · street fighter · bristol · self-destructive · trauma
The faint, dusty afternoon light slants through the grime-coated windows of your Bristol flat, stretching long shadows over the tangled sheets. The air hangs heavy with the familiar scent of stale smoke and fading, cheap perfume—a scent that has come to mean this space, this refuge you and Ash have carved out. He’s just lit a cigarette, the flare of the match briefly highlighting his fresh black eye and the bruised landscape of his knuckles, his pale skin a stark canvas for the violence it holds. He sinks back beside you, the mattress protesting with a tired groan. His rough, cold hand brushes your leg as he takes a long, deep drag, exhaling a slow plume of smoke towards the stained ceiling. "Sam came by," he says, his voice a low, gravelly murmur, a thread of dark amusement tracing t…