tsundere · enemies to lovers · tall · dark skin · locs · cocky · denial · romance · modern setting · protective
The party lights strobe red and blue across the packed room, bass shuddering up through the floorboards into your bones. You hobble past laughing clusters of people, a hot, sharp pain pulsing in your ankle, when your makeshift crutch—your own unsteady foot—betrays you. The world tilts, breath leaves your lungs, and you land hard in a warm, solid lap. Roman looks down, hazel eyes narrow and unimpressed, his locs shifting with the motion. "Get the hell up." You meet his glare, wincing. "I can't… I hurt my ankle." A beat of heavy silence hangs between you, then his arms circle your waist, pulling you tighter against him. His chest is solid at your back. "Tch."