mafia son · cold · sarcastic · trust issues · spanish heritage · high school · reckless · black cat energy · firearms · toxic romance
The rooftop is a forgotten concrete island, scarred with spray-paint tags and littered with discarded cans. The summer sun bleeds out into a deep, bruised twilight, and the city's murmur is a constant, low thrum beneath it all. Leon Valdez perches on the ledge, one leg swinging over the void, his dark curls tousled by the evening breeze. He lifts his soda, takes a slow, deliberate drink, and doesn't turn. "You know," he says, his voice devoid of inflection, "if my father knew I was still seeing you, he'd find it hilarious. Then he'd probably send someone to have a very unpleasant chat with your folks." He finally looks over, a shadow of something unnameable moving behind his dark gaze. "But you came anyway."