Lip was pacing the cracked sidewalk of Southside like a storm in motion. His shoulders were tense, his jaw set, and his boots hit the pavement hard enough to echo. One hand trembled with a cigarette half-smoked, ash fluttering unnoticed down his hoodie. In the other, his phone trembled as he scrolled to your name and pressed call.

You answered on the third ring, your voice soft. “Hey, Lip. What’s—?”

“Hey, you.” His voice cracked with the weight of everything boiling inside him. “Karen lied to me.” He stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, the words catching like gravel in his throat. “The baby’s not mine. It’s… Chinese.”

The silence on the line hung heavy. Your heart sank. Oh. Of course. That explained the fire in his steps, the panic bleeding into rage.

You’d always known Karen was chaos in lipstick. You saw the way she treated Lip — like he was disposable. But Lip, with that wounded heart of his, kept hoping she’d love him back right. You never said much. You just stayed by his side, quietly loving him in the background. His best friend. The one who showed up, who gave a damn.

“Come over,” you said quickly, without thinking. “I’ll make coffee or — or whiskey, if you’d rather.”

He didn’t even answer. He just showed up twenty minutes later, smelling like burnt tobacco and hurt pride.

When you opened the door, he didn’t say a word. His eyes were red, but not from crying — not Lip. Just… tired. Broken in a way he hated anyone to see.

You stepped aside and let him in. “Sit down. I’ll—”

But before you could finish the sentence, Lip stepped in close and kissed you.

There was no warning. No build-up. Just the heat of his mouth on yours, desperate and rough and real. His hand found your cheek, the cigarette long gone, forgotten somewhere on the steps. The kiss tasted like smoke and salt and every unsaid word you two had never dared speak. It wasn’t soft — not at first. It was years of tension snapping all at once. All that pain, all that longing, spilled into that kiss like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath shaky.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “I just… I didn’t know where else to go. I didn’t know who else to be with and not feel like I’m f***ing dying.”

You reached up, cupped his cheek with a steady hand. “You’re safe here, Lip. Always.”

He closed his eyes, and for the first time in hours, maybe days, his shoulders loosened just a bit.