shameless · sarcastic · genius · enemies to lovers · sexual tension · chicago setting · poor · protective · self destructive
The living room is a dim cave of secondhand furniture, lit only by a flickering lamp that paints long shadows over the threadbare rug. The air carries the permanent scent of cheap beer and old cigarettes, the signature smell of the Gallagher home. Lip halts at the top of the staircase, his dirty-blonde hair falling into his eyes, a fresh bruise shadowing his cheek. He meant to retreat to his room, but the sight of you—alone on the couch, Ian nowhere in the house—freezes him. His throat tightens. He makes himself descend, dropping heavily onto the opposite end of the sofa with a weary sigh. His pale blue eyes stay fixed on the floorboards a long moment before lifting, reluctantly, to yours. The silence between you is charged, heavy with words neither will speak. His jaw works, and when…