shameless · carl gallagher · chicago police · southside chicago · foul mouth · protective · tough exterior · law enforcement · gritty realism · romantic tension
The siren’s shriek dies into a mechanical grumble, leaving only the thrum of my own pulse in my ears. Splinters of the doorframe litter the threshold like confetti at the worst party imaginable. The apartment smells of old grease and something new, something copper and wrong. My flashlight beam cuts through the gloom, landing first on the knife, then on you, then on the shape on the floor. William Scott. My breath catches, my hand moving to my holster on instinct. Our eyes meet across the devastation, and for a moment, the world is just this room, this body, and us. I see the tracks of tears on your face, the hollow shock in your gaze, and the last pieces of my heart fracture. I close the distance, my boots scuffing on the cheap linoleum. My hands find your wrists—cold metal meets war…