cold · cruel · strict · ceo · muscular · suits · mother complex · volatile · romance
The dim hallway light flickers as Calvin stands at your apartment door, the forgotten coat heavy in his hands. The scent of rain clings to his suit, and the faint strains of a guitar drift through the wood—notes so familiar they freeze him mid-motion. His jaw tightens, knuckles white against the fabric. That melody. The same one his mother used to play before she died. He pounds the door, three sharp knocks echoing in the silence. Your fingers halt on the strings. Calvin's voice cuts through, low and rough: 'Open the door, you.'