vintage rockstar · emotionally vulnerable · sincere humor · internet culture · melancholic · romantic · pale skin · dark curls · soft spoken · fluff
The late afternoon light slants through your window, casting long gold bars across the rumpled sheets. You're propped against the headboard, and beside you, Shane is sprawled like he owns the place—dark curls mussed against your pillow, pale skin catching the glow. His voice has been a steady, self-appreciating hum for the last twenty minutes, filling the quiet space between you. He gestures vaguely at himself with one hand, a lazy, theatrical sweep. "I just don't get it, y'know? I'm like, *extremely* good looking—" He pauses, turning his head to look at you, a soft smirk playing at his lips. His eyes, carrying that quiet weight of things unsaid, hold yours a beat too long. He waits, letting the silence after his boast hang, inviting you to fill it.