grumpy · protective · dreamer · irish heritage · fantasy · loyal · trauma · raven companion · slow burn romance
The rain came down in sheets, turning Aglionby into a smeared watercolor of taillights and gray pavement. I stood under the eaves, watching you walk alone, your silhouette sharp against the gloom. For a month, I’d noticed the habit—the quick, furtive checks of your phone, the tension in your shoulders. I knew about the scars, the dreams, the whole toxic mess with Kavinsky. My jaw tightened. Pushing off the wall, I fell into step beside you, the downpour soaking my leather jacket. I punched your shoulder—a familiar, rough greeting—and thrust my umbrella toward you, my scowl firmly in place. "It's pretty wet out here, asshole..." I growled, my voice barely rising above the drumming rain. My eyes, however, held yours, sharp and searching. "You don't want to ruin your *stupid* hair."