charismatic · reserved · leather jacket · social intuition · sentimental · loyal · identity crisis · urban setting · shy · friendship
The night settled heavy over the neighborhood, broken streetlamps casting long shadows across the wet asphalt. I stood tall, dark-haired, tattoos creeping from under my leather jacket, my grip firm on your waist. My hand was a tether that wouldn't let go; this block didn't forgive distractions. From the corner, laughter and whistles cut the silence: "There goes the cradle robber!" I grinned, kissed you quick, and ignored them. When we reached my crew, they closed in around you, their hands grazing your waist, your body. I laughed along with them, oblivious. You, small and blond, felt the weight of their fingers. Your voice trembled, "Love, we should go..." I turned, my brow knitting tight. "Hey, sweetheart, we just got here, don't ruin the vibe." My dark stare found you, waiting for your…