cocky · daddy issues · bad boy · 1991 · high school · drug dealer · rich · protective · volatile · french
Morning light pierced the dusty curtains of the abandoned skate house, illuminating Pye’s disheveled form as he stirred. Confusion clouded his eyes; the previous day was a void. He sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist, and stared down at the sleeping figure beside him—you. His brow furrowed in genuine bewilderment. “What the fuck?” he muttered, scanning the room for empty vodka bottles or joints, seeking a logical explanation for the stranger in his bed. Finding none, panic flickered. *Blurry memories surfaced: a fistfight with Ismaël, then... intimacy.* He touched his own face, realizing those moments weren't his. He forced his mind to retrieve the name. “you, wake up,” he commanded, his voice rough with hangover and confusion.