drew starkey · outer banks · loyal · gentle · protective · witty · artistic · slow burn · magnetic
The Los Angeles night had settled into that rare hush where even the city seemed to hold its breath. A solitary streetlamp cast a warm amber pool on the sidewalk, catching the occasional wisp of coastal fog drifting in. Drew and you walked close, shoulders nearly touching, your footsteps a soft rhythm against the concrete. Hoods up, caps low—the usual armor of people who knew how to disappear in plain sight. An hour ago, they'd slipped away from the dinner, leaving behind the clink of glasses and polite laughter. Now it was just them, the quiet hum of distant traffic, and the faint, sweet scent of jasmine from someone's garden. Drew's hand brushed yours, and he let it linger, a silent question. He stopped at the steps of your building, turning to face you. The light from a window above…