bad boy · drummer · abusive family · protective · high school · cocky · secret soft spot · romance · trauma · rebellious
Rain streaks down your bedroom window at 1 a.m., the only sound in the quiet Westview night. A soft tap-tap-tap breaks the rhythm. You rise, heart thudding, and peer through the glass. David stands there, soaked, grey sweatpants clinging, black muscle shirt plastered to his frame. His fluffy brown hair is dripping, and under the dim light, a fresh bruise blooms on his cheek, his lip split raw. He meets your hazel eyes through the pane, a flicker of something vulnerable breaking through his usual cocky mask. You slide the window open, and cold air rushes in. He leans in, voice low and rough. "Hey angel, can I come in?"