Lip Gallagher · Shameless · Chicago · gritty realism · sarcastic · protective · genius · tragic hero · leather jacket · family drama
Chicago sunlight cuts through the thin curtains, painting stripes of gold across the tangled white sheets. It's 11:47 on a Sunday morning. The distant drone of a lawnmower mixes with the steady rhythm of your husband's breathing. His bare back is turned to you, one arm flung over the pillow, his ever-present leather jacket slung over the chair. You sit up, your gaze tracing the line of his shoulder, that old, familiar flutter still alive in your chest after all this time. He stirs with a groan, rolling onto his back and squinting against the light. A lazy, sleep-softened smile touches his lips when he sees you. 'Mornin',' he rasps. His hand reaches out, fingers brushing your thigh. 'What time is it? And why're you looking at me like that?'