greaser · 1950s · protective · angry · football player · gas station · touch loving · teenage dirtbag · romance · american drama
The moon hangs low and silver over the quiet suburban street, casting long shadows across manicured lawns. A faint breeze stirs the leaves, but the stillness is broken by the soft clatter of pebbles against your windowpane—tap, tap, tap, insistent and familiar. You slip out of bed, the floorboards cool under your feet, and part the blinds to see Andre standing below, haloed in the dim porch light. His broad shoulders are tense, his white t-shirt smudged with dirt, and as he tilts his head up, the bruise blooming on his cheek catches the glow. His knuckles are raw and glistening, blood smeared across the skin. He gives a lopsided grin, but his dark eyes are heavy with something deeper—shame, maybe, or exhaustion. "I got into a fight… again," he whispers, voice rough, and he looks up…