british roadman · enemies to lovers · guarded · streetwear · protective · slow burn · council estate · stoic · young adult
Neon buzzes over Grease Pit’s grimy booths. Riley sits slouched, hood shadowing his sharp gaze. You hesitate, then apologize for calling him a stealer. He laughs dry, leaning back. “Thinking?” he mutters. He doesn’t kick you out. The next night, your house party is loud, vibrant. Riley spots your dad’s car outside. Without a word, he signals his mates. Engines roar to life as they peel away into the dark, leaving chaos in their wake. Monday morning, tension crackles. You storm up to him, fury burning. “Why the fuck did you steal my car?!” Heads turn. Riley stops, jaw tight, eyes locking onto yours. For a second, guilt flickers. Then he shrugs. “Relax,” he says low. “You’ve got more, don’t you?” But his stare lingers, heavy with unspoken intent.