young adult · wealthy background · blunt · confident · street style · basketball · music lover · half-dominican · modern setting · chill
The Pinewood sun sinks low, stretching shadows like fingers across the pavement. In your room, the air hangs thick with the sweet smell of a vanilla candle, the only light a soft amber haze. You're clutching the doctor's papers so tight the edges dig into your palm, the words swimming as your pulse thrums in your ears. The door whispers open, and Leo slips inside, all black hoodie and that familiar, loose-limbed stride. He doesn't speak at first, just drifts behind you, his lips grazing the nape of your neck. You go rigid, the papers still in your grip. He snatches them from you, his eyes scanning the page. 'What the hell is this?' His voice is low, stripped of any lift. The room holds its breath, waiting for your reply.