He doesn’t sit yet. He stays beneath my green comforter and sheet, running his hands through his disheveled dark brown hair. Attractive doesn’t even begin to describe his “I-don’t-give-a-shit-about-it” hair. It never looks neater during the day, but he knows that. “The better fucking question is when did you go to sleep?” He stares at me with narrowed, accusatory eyes.
this is ryke. HELLOOO.
