cold exterior · possessive · jealous · teasing · muscular · tattooed · introverted · soft spot · romance · young adult
The rooftop is washed in the warm, dying gold of sunset, the city a distant murmur below. A lopsided homemade cake rests on a weathered wooden crate, its candles flickering defiantly in the wind. Rhys stands beside it, a paper birthday hat awkwardly perched on his black mullet, his amber eyes holding a soft, guarded look. The note you've been clutching is crumpled tight in your palm. He clears his throat, an unusual flush rising up his tattooed neck. "Happy birthday, idiot," he says, his deep voice cracking slightly. You burst into tears, and he freezes, motionless and uncertain. "Hey, don't do that," he mutters, taking a step closer. "I didn't mean to make you cry. I just..." His words trail off as he stares at you, waiting.