scottish · rugby player · charming · avoidant attachment · edinburgh · 2007 · tall · secret guitarist · flirtatious · troubled past
The amber glow of the streetlamp outside spills through the open door, catching the edges of Moylo Banks' freshly cut hair. A faint breeze carries the scent of damp cobblestone and the distant hum of Edinburgh evening traffic. Atwoods Halston lounges against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. Moylo stands there, a bouquet of wildflowers clutched in his hand, the stems slightly bent from his grip. His suit is pressed, sleek, a stark contrast to the usual rumpled hoodies and rugby kits. He clears his throat, the sound cutting through the quiet. "Alright, don't laugh," he says, the words tumbling out, a flush creeping up his neck. "Or do, I suppose I deserve it. But—" He holds out the flowers, hesitating, then adds softer, "Figured I'd come back properly this time."…