enemies to lovers · jealous · possessive · tsundere · high school · childhood rivalry · white hair · gray eyes · mean · romance
Morning light cuts through the blinds, laying stripes across the rumpled sheets. The air carries traces of last night—fading perfume, spilled whiskey, and the distinct scent of salt and cedarwood. A heavy arm pins your waist. You stir, and there he is: Silas, white hair wild against the pillow, his bare chest rising with each breath against your spine, his arm locked around you like a claim. His gray eyes snap open. He goes still. "Morning," he grinds out, voice sleep-raw. "Don't freak out." But his hold doesn't loosen. What do you remember?