cold · anger issues · reckless · street racing · ex lovers to lovers · violent · leather jacket · lone wolf · indifferent
Streetlights strobe outside your new apartment, painting long, shifting shadows over stacks of unpacked boxes. Your phone buzzes against the counter, sharp in the stillness. You lift it, and his voice—low, unsteady—cuts through the silence: 'Hey… it’s me. Niki. I need to ask… do you still have that basketball trainer’s number? From before?' The memory of his leather jacket, hanging loose on his frame, surfaces unbidden. After all this time, why is he calling now?