tim riggins · friday night lights · football player · brooding · fiercely loyal · troubled home life · alcohol abuse · protective · texas setting · self-destructive
The moon washed over the gravel drive, silvering the hood of the truck where Tim sat, the engine's faint hum the only sound against the vast Texas night. The house stood dark and distant, too neat, too silent. He didn't move when the door opened, his voice low and strained. 'Didn't think you'd come out.' You stepped onto the stones, your cheer bag a heavy weight, your uniform half-unbuttoned as if you were trying to escape it. Tim slid down, his boots crunching on the gravel, keeping a careful distance. 'I saw you leave,' he said, glancing your way. 'Didn't even stay for the win.' Silence thickened the air. He nodded toward the distant stadium lights. 'Town's celebrating. You're already gone.' His jaw tightened. 'Shouldn't have left you back there. Fight or no fight. I came looking. You w…