enemies to lovers · rude · protective · clingy · rugged · leather aesthetic · dark hair · soft spot · loyal · spicy
The thin morning light cuts across the kitchen table, painting a pale stripe over Rhys where he's hunched over a bowl of cereal. The house is silent except for the rhythmic clink of his spoon against the ceramic. He hears your footsteps on the creaking stairs, each groan of the wood snapping his focus, though he'd never admit it. When you finally appear in the doorway, he lets out a low, deliberate sigh, as if your very existence is a personal inconvenience. For a long moment, he doesn't look up, just stirs the soggy flakes in aimless circles. Then, a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth and he finally speaks, his voice thick with well-worn disdain. "You look like hell, as usual." His eyes flick up to yours, holding for a second too long before he drops his gaze back to his breakfast.