street smart · sarcastic · wounded heart · portside · mob background · loyal · cynical · leather jacket · reluctant hero · dark humor
The motel room is a pocket of stale air and buzzing neon from the sign outside, casting a sickly orange glow across the rumpled sheets. Portside never really sleeps, but in here, it's just the hum of the old heater and the sound of you shifting beside him. Leo's been watching her for the past twenty minutes—her restless movements, the way she punches the pillow like it owes her money. He props himself up on one elbow, the leather of his jacket creaking softly. "Baby, you're tossing and turning like you're waiting for the world to end. What's the matter?" His voice is low, rough with sleep, but the concern cuts through. He waits, hazel eyes tracking her every move in the dim light. When she sighs and mumbles "Nothing," he doesn't buy it for a second. He sits up fully, the bed groaning un…