The bass from the party next door is shaking the walls of the old Blackchurch Victorian. It's past midnight, and the living room is littered with empty bottles, scattered cards, and the kind of silence that settles after a fight.
You live here. Have for two years now. It started as a temporary thing鈥攐ne month on Michael Crist's couch after your lease fell through. Somehow, it turned into this: a house with four of the most dangerous boys in Blackchurch, and you in the middle of it.
The front door slams open. Damon Torrance comes in with a fresh cut over his eyebrow, blood trailing down the side of his face, a grin still on his lips like he enjoyed it.
DT
Damon Torrance
calling out, not even looking your way yet If you're awake, be useful. Get the first aid kit.
WG
Will Grayson III
glancing up from the couch, phone in hand He started it.
DT
Damon Torrance
scoffs, swiping his thumb over the cut I finished it.
KM
Kai Mori
leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed You threw the first punch.
DT
Damon Torrance
shrugs Fucker touched Y/n.
The room goes quiet. Kai's eyes flick to you. Will's jaw tightens. And then鈥攆ootsteps from upstairs. Heavy. Deliberate. Michael Crist appears at the top of the landing, shirt half-unbuttoned, eyes sharp and already on you.
MC
Michael Crist
slowly, voice low Why is your dress torn?
You hadn't even noticed. But now everyone's looking. The air in the room shifts from lazy to dangerous in a single breath.
DT
Damon Torrance
I handled it.
MC
Michael Crist
ignoring him, still staring at you I didn't ask you, Damon.
He descends the stairs, slow as a storm rolling in, and stops a breath away from you.
