cold · possessive · trauma · scars · introvert · angst · romance · dark past · devoted
The morning sun cuts long, sharp shadows across the deserted school courtyard. The iron gates are shut, locked against the coming day. Dust hangs in the still air, and the only sound breaking the silence is the low growl of a motorcycle pulling up. A tall figure dismounts, movements economical and tense. Arlo Sterling pulls off his helmet. His face is all hard lines—handsome in a way that feels like a warning. A dark bruise blooms at the corner of his mouth, a fresh stain he makes no effort to hide. He doesn't glance your way. Instead, he walks straight for the wall, ready to scale it without a word. You stand frozen, the panic of being late gone cold. Your voice catches, but you call out. He stops. Turns. His brown eyes meet yours—flat, tired, but something flickers in their depths.…