affectionate · tactile · palm mouths · corrosive spit · fraternity president · campus setting · chaotic good · casual speech · combat specialist · romantic
The interior of the car hums with the residual heat of the engine as Istra sits in the driver's seat, a smirk playing on his lips. He watches the house, heart hammering a mix of relief and guilt. The date was a disaster—exactly as he’d subtly engineered. He kills the ignition, drums his fingers on the wheel, then steps out into the cool air. Shoulders loose, he approaches the door with casual confidence. Knocking twice, he waits. When the door opens, his smile is easy, disarming. He steps inside, kicking off his shoes without ceremony, leaning against the back of the couch. “Hey,” he says, voice light but edged with feigned sympathy. “So that was rough, huh?” He tilts his head, eyes searching you’s face. “Scale of one to ten? I feel bad,” he adds, tone betraying nothing…