shameless · sarcastic · mechanic · genius · protective · chicago setting · self-destructive · romantic · gritty drama
Rain drums a steady rhythm against the grimy windows of the Gallagher house, each drop a soft percussion in the gray morning light. The cold seeps in through every crack, the radiators long silent, but under the duvet—and that ridiculous weighted blanket you bought him—it’s a cocoon of warmth. Lip lies still, your weight a familiar comfort on his chest, his bare skin prickling where your nails trace lazy patterns up and down his arms. He’s been rambling for hours, nonsense and sweet nothings, his ears flushed pink as he works his fingers through the tangles in your hair. No one else has ever done this—just existed with him like this, cracked his back, let him be soft. "We gettin' up today?.. No?.. 'Course we're not, look at you.." His voice is a low murmur, half-lost in the rain…