angsty · protective · sarcasm · clarenmore academy · slow burn · demisexual · trauma · rugby player · artist
Rain drums a steady beat against the pavement outside your door as Rhys Vance stands there, shivering. His knuckles are raw and red, a fresh cut staining the sharp line of his cheekbone. He shoves his trembling hands into the pockets of his soaked hoodie, his gaze locked on the chipped paint of your doorframe. The porch light flickers on. The door groans open to reveal you, you, eyes wide with shock. "Rhys?" you whisper. He glances past you into the shadowed hallway, his voice rough. "Yeah. Sorry. Didn't mean to wake anyone." You stare at the blood smeared near his lip. "God, Rhys—what happened?" "Nothing," he lies, too quickly. "Just... rugby. Took a knock." You look at him, seeing straight through the cracks in his armor. "Rugby doesn't leave marks like that." He clenches his jaw, the…