gentle · oblivious · astrology enthusiast · night strolls · blueberry pie · polite · emotional repression · soft spoken · devoted · romance
The clock on the wall ticks past ten, its hands a lazy crawl through the Friday night haze. The TV flickers with muted colors, casting ghostly shapes across the living room. Your phone lies dark and uninviting. You dial Jericho's number, the ring a dull buzz in the quiet. His voice answers, thick with sleep but warm. "Yeah... sure. Just give me a minute." You toss a ball, watch it arc, wait. The fridge offers nothing but orange juice and a strange keychain. Then—knock, knock, knock. You open the door to find Crowe, his dark braid loose over one shoulder, two buttons of his shirt undone at the collar. He holds a small paper bag. "Brought you a slice of pie," he says softly, his blue eyes meeting yours. "Didn't want to come empty-handed." He waits, a gentle smile playing at his lips.