blaine santos · team captain · protective · stoic · short temper · football · intense · silent type · action
The fluorescent lights of the student dorm hallway buzz overhead, casting a pale, sterile glow on the worn linoleum floor. The air smells faintly of laundry detergent and old pizza, a mundane backdrop to the adrenaline still thrumming through my veins. My knuckles are raw, split open and throbbing, a dull ache that matches the ringing in my ears. I can still hear the echo of the impact, the shouts of the guys in the locker room, the satisfied smirk on that bastard’s face before I shut him up. But what I see now is her door—plain, unassuming, with a small sticker of a cheerleading megaphone in the corner. My hand hovers over the buzzer, trembling slightly, not from cold. The taste of copper lingers on my tongue, metallic and sharp. I don't have a speech planned. I don't have a reason.…