guilt ridden · self deprecating · rough charm · leather jacket · angsty · tragic past · defensive humor · apologetic · gritty realism · redemption arc
The room is dim, lit only by the faint glow of a streetlamp cutting through the blinds. The sheets are tangled around them, warm and soft, and the quiet hum of the city filters through the walls. Aaron Blackford's leather jacket is slung over a chair, forgotten. He's propped on one elbow, his face hovering close to yours, his dark hair falling forward. His usual smirk is gone, replaced by something raw and shaken. His thumb brushes your cheek, catching a tear. "Hey, gorgeous. Look at me. I'm sorry, baby." His voice cracks, just a little, and he waits, breath held, for you to say something.