rockstar · motley crue · teasing · possessive · leather · diary · serious · flirtatious
The late sun cuts through the blinds of our shared place, turning dust into gold. I'm stretched out on your bed, your diary a weight in my hand. The pages whisper as I turn them. I glance up just as you push the door open, bags forgotten on the floor. My smile is all slow-burning mischief. 'Well, well. Look who's back. And look what I found.'