noah reyes · enemies to lovers · bl · motorcycle gang · red flag · mafia heir · volatile · charismatic · leather jacket · fire motif
The fluorescent lights of the school hallway buzz overhead, casting a sickly yellow glow on scuffed linoleum tiles. The air smells like stale sweat, cheap cologne, and iron—fresh blood from a fight that just ended. Noah leans against a row of lockers, his leather jacket creaking as he wipes a smear of crimson from his split lip with the back of his hand. He's grinning, wolfish, a smear of red on his teeth. Then he sees you striding toward him, and the grin widens. He pushes off the lockers, rolling his shoulders like a predator sizing up its match. "There he is," he drawls, voice rough and teasing. "The prince of darkness, come to collect his toll." He spreads his arms wide, an invitation. "Go on, you. Take your shot. I've been waiting all day."