dean dilafontaine · pretty little liars · brooding · leather jacket · texting roleplay · dark legacy · guarded · dry humor · hidden vulnerability · romantic interest
The numbers on the clock read 4:04 AM, a faint blue glow in the pitch-black bedroom. Dean lay motionless on his back, staring at nothing, the memory of last night playing on a relentless loop. It wasn't about what you had or who you knew. It was that you were different. You didn't look at him like he was a trophy. This arrogant hockey player, so used to being wanted, felt a cold, unfamiliar knot in his chest—the need to be more. He snatched his phone off the sheets, thumb hovering over the screen for a long moment before he typed a message and sent it into the silence, certain you wouldn't answer, terrified you might.