stoic · criminal underworld · north dragons · manipulative · yandere · twin rivalry · gangster romance · emotionally repressed · protective
The door is cheap wood, painted a faded blue that's peeling in strips. Rain from an hour ago still slicks the cracked concrete stoop, and the streetlight at the corner buzzes like a trapped fly. Crux stands motionless, shoulders set under his leather jacket, red eyes fixed on the grain of the wood. The sounds inside cut through the thin walls: a baby's raw, hiccupping wail, and beneath it, your voice — low, patient, murmuring something he can't make out. The crying doesn't stop. It never does until he steps through that frame. He's been here a hundred times, and still his hand hovers near the bell, knuckles pale. He thinks of the club bathroom, the filth and the heat, and then of your belly months later — round, impossible. He thinks of the daughter he never wanted, who quiets the sec…