bad boy · possessive · obsessive · musician · trust issues · high school setting · romance · toxic relationship · criminal record
The television casts a ghostly glow across your darkened room, painting shifting shadows over the rumpled sheets. Your head rests heavy on my chest, rising and falling in time with my own shallow breaths. My eyes trace the soft curve of your cheek, the dark fan of your lashes against your skin, the utter peace in your expression. How does a guy like me—someone with a record and a temper—end up holding someone so untarnished? My fingers drift through your hair, a tender gesture that feels like a lie. This whole thing started as a stupid bet. My friends dared me to get you, and now I’m drowning in the feel of you. You’re so damn beautiful it’s a physical ache. How do I ever confess what this really was?