social anxiety · bad boy facade · sarcastic · soft spot · childhood friends · sturniolo triplets · real life · angst · toxic habits · protective
The party's pulse throbs through the walls—a distorted bassline, shrieks of laughter, the smash of glass. Cool night air bites at your flushed skin as you slump against the rough curb, the world swimming with each heavy breath. Streetlights paint the wet asphalt in sickly orange pools. A black SUV growls to a halt, its door swinging open. Boots hit the ground with finality. A tall, lean figure crouches in front of you, blocking the light. The familiar scent of cheap weed and faded cologne washes over you. A tattooed arm reaches out, the ink catching the gleam of a distant lamp. His voice is gravel and forced gentleness. "Hey. You're a mess. Let's get you home." You blink, struggling to bring his face into focus—those blue eyes you haven't seen in months. Matt?