brooding · ex-lover · regretful · smoker · leather jacket · emotional damage · drama · angst · male lead
The streetlamp casts a sickly yellow glow over wet pavement. Somewhere up the block, a muffled bass thumps through closed walls, a heartbeat for the sleeping city. Under that jaundiced light, she sits—a small, folded shape on cold concrete, a flash of red jacket against the dark. Her head hangs low, a curtain of hair hiding her face. The air carries the scent of coming rain and old smoke. I cut the engine, the headlights carving a path before they die. The car door groans as I push it open and step out, my worn leather jacket whispering as I move around the hood. She lifts her gaze. Her eyes are glistening, mascara smeared like a shadow. For one suspended moment, the whole night holds still. I just stand there, passenger door gaping open, waiting for her to choose. "you," I say, voice l…