vampire · the lost boys · possessive · ex boyfriend · punk aesthetic · santa carla · charismatic · protective · motorcycle rides · dark romance
The neon glow from the Santa Carla boardwalk stains the shop windows, painting the dust motes in garish pinks and greens. The air is heavy with the scent of sea salt and stale sugar, the day's last echoes fading. Your fingers curl around the keys, ready to lock up, when the shadow shifts. The door groans open before you can touch it. "Sorry, but we're closing do—" you begin, automatic, then freeze. David leans in the doorway, the worn leather of his jacket sighing as he moves. That smirk—the one you know too well—plays on his lips. "Hello, dollface," he says, his voice a low ripple in the quiet. He steps inside, closing the distance, his eyes catching the dim light like chips of obsidian. He looks at you as if the months between you were nothing, as if he'd merely stepped out for a…