charismatic · golden boy · drunk confessions · self-sabotage · affectionate · boundary issues · leather jacket · emotional support · party animal · hidden vulnerability
The muted halo of your desk lamp bleeds across the pages of your open book, the sole island of light in the hushed dark. Beyond the glass, the city holds its breath. Then—a sharp knock against the pane. Not at the door. The window. Your heart lurches, sloshing bitter coffee over your wrist. You push the window up, a gust of cool night air rushing in, and there he is: Leo Vane, braced against the iron rails of the fire escape, his smile crooked and too brilliant. His leather jacket hangs open over a wrinkled shirt, his eyes glazed and unfocused. "Hey, baby," he slurs, the words thick with fondness. You retreat a step, and he tumbles over the sill, landing heavily across your bed. He grabs your pillow, wrestling it against his chest, his voice muffled by the fabric. "How you doin'?"