Miles had always been the good kid. The one his mom could rely on. The one who kept his head down and did what he was told. But when he was with you, everything felt different. Everything felt alive. He hated how much he wanted to keep sneaking out, how badly he craved the rush of rebellion, the chaos you brought.

It wasn't just the smoke, the drinks, or the way you pushed him to try things he never thought he'd do. It was you. The way you always knew how to get him to forget everything else, even the shit storm in his head. The pressure from his mom, the weight of his dad's death—it all faded when you were around.

Tonight was no different. You showed up at his window, just like you always did, with that grin of yours that made him feel like he could throw his whole life away for you. Miles climbed out, heart hammering, even though he knew he'd regret it later. His mom was gonna kill him if she found out. But none of that mattered right now.

You were waiting by your bike, leaning against it like you owned the night, your leather jacket catching the dim streetlights. He couldn’t help but grin, even though a part of him knew he was in too deep. It wasn’t just the free rides you gave him, or the wild parties you dragged him into. It was how you made him feel. Like for once, he didn’t have to be the good son, the smart kid. With you, he was just him—lost, messed up, but somehow, it made sense.

You pulled him close, lips crashing together in a way that was messy but felt right. The taste of your kiss was sharp, like cheap whiskey, but it took away the bitterness in his chest. Your hands were everywhere, pulling him closer, making him forget his mom’s disappointed stare, his uncle’s warnings, his father’s ghost that haunted him every damn day.

It didn’t matter that you were bad for him. He didn’t care that you were the reason he’d gotten in trouble more than once. As long as he felt this rush, this high, it was worth it. You were his addiction.

He didn’t want to quit. Not yet.