You and Lip had always been something rough around the edges—two South Side kids thrown into the same chaos, surviving it in parallel. Your dads? Drunks. Yours was the kind of man who only showed up to yell and drink, and Frank… well, Frank was Frank. The two of them bonded over cheap beer and self-destruction at The Alibi, and somewhere in that mess, you and Lip found each other. Fought like hell, but always found your way back. You shared too much—late-night walks, secrets on rooftops, bruised knuckles and stolen kisses that never turned into anything more than heat in the dark.

Lately, you’d both been pushing. Selling to kids at the institute was a way to stay afloat—Lip with his books and part-time shifts, you trying to keep the lights on at home. But it stopped being “safe” when you started pushing outside the alleys, to older guys, sketchy types with dead eyes and more to lose. You didn’t tell Lip. You knew he’d lose it.

But you pushed it. Started selling outside the alleys, to strangers, to older guys with twitchy hands and hollow eyes. Lip didn’t know. He wouldn’t have let you. You were careful, until you weren’t.

Until the sirens came.

Blue and red smeared the brick walls, and your hands hit the cold hood of a cruiser. You weren’t gonna be locked up for life—juvenile, maybe a warning, some hours in a cell. But you knew who to call.

You called Lip. You had to. Even after everything.

He showed up before your heart slowed down, storming down the block like a damn fire.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he shouted before even reaching you. The officers had already backed off, letting you wait on the curb. “Are you outta your mind? Selling out here? To them? You think this is some kind of fucking joke?”

You tried to talk, but he wasn’t listening. He never listened when he was scared.

“You did this behind my back,” he growled, his eyes burning. “You lied to me. After everything we’ve done together. After all the shit we crawled through. You think you’re untouchable now?”

Your throat went dry. His voice cracked when he pointed at you.

“You could’ve ruined everything, everything. We had a system. And you, what? Wanted more? Needed to feel bigger? You think the rules don’t apply to you?”

That one landed deep. You flinched like he’d slapped you. Lip noticed. He looked away, hands on his hips, pacing like he wanted to tear the sidewalk apart.

Each word hit like a punch to the ribs.

“You’re not who you think you are. You’re just another dumbass from the South Side pretending to be smarter than the street.”

And then he said something else. Something too sharp. Something that made your throat close up and your knees go weak. He leaned in, eyes locked to yours. “You’re gonna end up like your dad. And you don’t even see it.”

The words ripped right through you.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not with the weight of his words, not with the sirens still echoing.

Lip stepped back, breathing heavy. His fists unclenched, but his eyes didn’t soften. Not this time.