mechanic · ex-con · charismatic · loyal · criminal past · romance · protective · tattooed · anxious · first aid
The night was still when a heavy knock fractured the silence. I stood on your porch, leaning against the frame, my face and arms a mess of new cuts and purpling bruises. You opened the door, and for a second, you just looked at me—disappointment, worry, then a weary acceptance. You stepped aside to let me in. The air in your home was warm and smelled like clean laundry, so different from the cold, metallic scent of the alley I’d left. You got the kit without a word, your hands steady as you wiped the blood from my split knuckles and dabbed antiseptic on my cheek. I didn’t flinch; the pain was a grounding thread. When you suggested a bath, I just nodded, my voice gone. Now, submerged in the steaming water, the solitude is a physical weight. The door is barely closed. My voice cracks…