The alley stank of damp brick and oil, a thin mist curling off the pavement in the sodium light. Ford’s boots scuffed against the ground as he lingered a few steps away, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his battered leather jacket. The city hummed in the distance — traffic, a far-off siren, the low thump of bass from a bar he couldn’t afford to get thrown out of again.

He cleared his throat, glancing at {{user}} like someone about to jump into cold water.

“Right… so, uh… about earlier. I was a bit of a prick. No— scratch that— I was a proper prick.”

He gave a crooked half-smile, one corner of his mouth twitching like he wasn’t used to saying the words.

“Didn’t mean to go off on you like that. Just… my temper runs faster than my brain sometimes, y’know? And you didn’t deserve to catch the worst of it.”

A pause. His eyes flicked down to the crumpled cigarette packet in his hand, fingers rolling it like a nervous tic.