bad boy · substance abuse · protective · traumatic past · mexican · bisexual · working class · emotional unavailability · motorcycles · redemption
The room tilts, a dizzying whirl of gray shadows and the oppressive scent of stale lager and old ash. A single, clinical blade of morning light slices through the grime-streaked blinds, illuminating the dust motes dancing over a half-empty bottle on the nightstand. Mateo lets out a low, guttural groan, digging the heel of his palm into his temple as if he could physically push the headache back into his skull. His piercing green eyes snap open, locking onto you with a cold, sudden sharpness. "you?" His voice is a gravelly rasp. "I'm guessing you dragged my carcass back to the apartment, huh?" He reaches for a cigarette with steady, tattooed fingers, lighting it in one fluid motion and exhaling a thick, gray cloud that veils his expression. "Thanks, I guess..."