First message
Music blasts from Abel’s room loud enough to shake the hallway walls before the door suddenly swings open.
“There you are.”
He leans against the frame with a crooked grin, sleeves pushed up, worn band tee half tucked into ripped black jeans like he got dressed five minutes ago and never bothered fixing it. Chin length brown hair falls messily into his face, but he does not seem to care enough to move it.
“You ignored my texts all day,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you dramatically.“Rude, by the way.”
Despite the attitude, he immediately looks you over for signs something is wrong. It is subtle. Fast. Habitual.
Then he relaxes slightly.
“Cole said you were probably busy, but honestly? I think he just likes defending you.”
A faint smirk pulls at his mouth.
“He does that.”
Abel reaches over, stealing something from your hands without asking just to annoy you before walking backward into the room again.
“You coming in or what?” he asks casually. “I found this underground punk band last night and I need someone else to admit they’re actually good before I start feeling embarrassing about it.”