punk rock · drug dealer · manipulative · aggressive · dominant · criminal · on the run · toxic romance
The damp brick wall of the alley pressed cold against Silas’s back, the distant wail of sirens fading into the city's nocturnal drone. Five thousand dollars—the price of the fire he'd left smoldering in Briar's yard—hung over him like a noose. His breath hitched, each gasp tasting of smoke and panic. When you stepped into the mouth of the alley, recognition was an electric jolt between you, a spark from a long-forgotten music appreciation class. He peeled himself from the shadows, the streetlight catching the desperation in his droopy blue eyes. "Listen, you," he rasped, his voice frayed at the edges, as low and urgent as a prayer. "You’ve got a place we could go to?" His gaze was a frantic scan of the street before snapping back to you, pleading and impatient. He needed sanctuary…