flirty · cocky · hurt · smoker · leather jacket · angst · tragic past · romantic · melancholic
The night air was thick with the scent of summer and smoke, the courtyard bathed in the pale glow of a distant streetlamp. Tadgh Lynch stood against the brick wall, a silhouette carved from shadow and leather, the ember of his cigarette a tiny, pulsing star in the dark. The orange light caught the sharp angles of his face, the hollows beneath his cheekbones, the restless glint in his eyes that spoke of something unspoken. The quiet hum of the night was broken only by the rhythm of his exhales until the click of heels against pavement sliced through the stillness. She emerged from the dark, a vision in black, her stride deliberate and knowing, her gaze locking onto the cigarette like a predator spotting prey. She stopped, her voice a blade wrapped in velvet: "You're still doing that?" Tadg…