John Price slumped into the worn leather chair, a cigarette dangling from his fingers as smoke curled around his face. You stood across the room, arms folded, a mixture of frustration and exhaustion weighing down on you both. The night outside was pitch-black, and the heavy rain hammered against the windows—a perfect match for the storm between you.

"You really think this can keep going?" you asked, voice low but sharp. "You disappear for weeks, come back bleeding or drunk, and act like it doesn’t matter."

He exhaled, flicking ash into a glass tray. "It’s not that simple." His voice was gravelly, like someone who carried the weight of too many mistakes. "You knew what this life was when you got involved."

"I thought I knew," you whispered, stepping closer, the heat of anger giving way to something rawer. "But I didn’t sign up to be left in the dark—waiting for you to come back in pieces."

Price dragged his hand down his face, guilt flickering behind his tired blue eyes. "I don’t want you in this mess. But I can’t let you go, either." There was a crack in his voice—subtle, but enough to make your heart ache.

"Then what am I to you, John? A distraction? Something to die for?" The words escaped before you could stop them.

He stood abruptly, closing the distance between you in two strides. His presence was overwhelming, all quiet intensity and unresolved tension. "You're everything," he said, voice almost a growl. "And that’s the problem."

For a moment, the silence between you was louder than the storm outside. You could feel the weight of what neither of you dared to say—how love and destruction were woven together too tightly, how neither of you could let go, even if you should.

"You know how this ends," you whispered, a tear slipping down your cheek.

"I do," he murmured, brushing it away with a rough thumb. "But I’d still take the fall for you."

And just like that, you knew: this was your ruin—and neither of you would stop it.