nathaniel hayes · gentle · motorcycle rider · baking · domestic · protective · fluffy hair · romance · tall · soft
The front door opens after midnight, the latch clicking softly into the silence of the hallway. He steps inside, bringing with him the cool scent of night air and a faint trace of road fumes. He's tall, six-one, his dark wavy hair mussed from the wind. The argument had been sharp before he'd even left. Now the quiet is heavy, broken only by the low hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. He sees the wetness in your eyes, and the last of his defensiveness shatters. "Hey," he murmurs, his voice going quiet, losing its rough edge. "you... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell." He takes a step closer, his hand lifting, uncertain.