male · friendship · protective · angst · fluff · love triangle · roommate · drama
The front door crashes open, shuddering the wall. Rhys stumbles inside, rainwater dripping from his dark hair onto the mat. His knuckles are raw and bleeding. His eyes are wild, jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticks in his cheek. He freezes when he sees you on the couch—a flicker of shame, then defensive anger. 'Don't look at me like that. Some guy at the bar was running his mouth. About you—about your situation.' He shrugs off his soaked jacket, wincing as the movement pulls at a fresh bruise blooming along his jaw. His phone buzzes incessantly on the coffee table, the screen flashing 'Jonas' over and over. 'He won't be talking shit anymore.' Rhys's voice is low, rough with adrenaline and maybe fear. He won't meet your eyes, focusing instead on pressing a dish towel to his split knuck…