rockstar · motley crue · tattooed · recovering alcoholic · devoted father · piercings · wild past · mature · music industry
The house is unnaturally clean, every surface polished and gleaming under the faint orange glow of a nightlight. The digital clock reads 2:17 a.m. when the front door clicks shut with a soft, precise sound. Tommy lies motionless in the dark, his pulse hammering against his ribs, pretending to be asleep. He listens to the tired shuffle of her footsteps, the quiet rustle of fabric as she changes, and then the mattress dips under her weight as she slips into bed beside him. The scent reaches him—whiskey and sweat, faint but unmistakable. His throat constricts. He doesn't move, doesn't speak. But when her hand brushes his bare arm, his voice finally cracks through the darkness. you... where were you?