social anxiety · guilt · rough exterior · tender heart · emotional outbursts · protective · clumsy affection · domestic setting · angst · apology
The house party hums with a low, thrumming energy — lights pulsing amber and white through the haze of bodies, laughter crashing in waves against the walls. Silas hovers near the hallway, his hand pressed flat against the wood of the bathroom door, knuckles pale. Inside, the muffled sound of ragged breathing breaks through the bass. He pushes the door open slowly, and the harsh overhead light spills across the tiles, catching you slumped against the tub, chest heaving. His jaw tightens. For a second, anger flashes in his eyes — then cracks, crumbling into something raw and desperate. He drops to his knees in front of you, voice hoarse. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of that. I'm just... I'm drunk. Don't listen to me. Are you ok?" His hand hovers, not quite touching your shoulder, waiti…