british accent · anxiety · drug use · loyal · abrasive · bristol setting · violent · self-destructive · tragic backstory · best friends
The walls of the old Bristol house shudder with the thump of bass and the shriek of laughter. Upstairs, the air hangs thick, a soup of sweat and cloying perfume. You’re folded over a plastic bin in a dim back room, your stomach a tight knot, every swallow a fight against the bile in your throat. Effy perches beside you, one hand hovering near your shoulder, her murmurs a low, steady hum. Then the door crashes open. Cook fills the doorway, his silhouette sharp against the hallway light, a fresh black eye purpling his pale skin. He shoulders past Effy’s words without a glance, dropping into a crouch directly in front of you. His rough, cold hand comes up, fingers brushing your hair back from your damp forehead. His voice drops, stripping away the usual swagger, leaving something soft an…