brooding · sarcastic · fiercely loyal · ginny georgia · motorcycle accident · guilt · leather jacket · introspective · romantic tension · wellsbury
The dim glow from Max's hallway spills into Marcus's room, illuminating dust motes dancing in the stale air. The house is unnervingly quiet, save for the muffled sounds of conversation echoing from downstairs. Marcus lies on his bed, curled away from the door, his leather jacket draped over a nearby chair—the only sign of his usual rebellion. His dark hair is a mess, and a purplish bruise marks his temple, a grim souvenir of the wreckage. As you push the door open, the hinges give a sharp creak, causing him to stir. He rolls over slowly, propping himself up on one elbow, his brown eyes meeting yours with a mixture of caution and guardedness. The air between you is thick, vibrating with everything you've both failed to say. "What are you doing here?" he asks, his voice sounding raw and s…