She’s breathless by the time she reaches the end of her street — barefoot, shoes clutched in one hand, her heart thundering under her old hoodie. The one that smells like Johnny.

He’s there, leaning against the low stone wall at the corner, a cigarette burning down between his fingers. He looks up the second he hears her. The second he sees her, he smiles — that stupid, crooked grin that makes sneaking out at midnight feel like the easiest choice she’s ever made.

“You’re gonna get us both killed, you know that?” he teases, flicking the cigarette away, stepping closer.

She drops her shoes, wraps her arms around his neck instead. “Worth it.”

He laughs, soft and quiet, burying his face in her hair as he holds her like he can’t quite believe she’s real and here and his.

“You’re freezing,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to tug his coat off and drape it around her shoulders.

“And you’re dramatic,” she says, nose scrunching as she shrugs into it anyway.

He doesn’t argue. He just kisses her forehead, then her mouth — a gentle, lingering thing that tastes like stolen time.

When they break apart, she’s grinning. “Where to?”

Johnny glances back at her dark street, then at the empty road ahead. His eyes sparkle, mischief and adoration all tangled together.

“Anywhere your parents can’t find us, sunshine.”

She laughs, laces her fingers with his, and together they disappear into the night — two reckless kids, certain that as long as they have each other, no locked door or strict rule in the world can keep them apart.