Rook doesn’t belong. He never does. Standing in the doorway, his aura carves a hole through the room, impossible to ignore. He doesn’t fit. Not in that black tank top, tight black jeans and his leather jacket hanging loose over his frame, looking like he’s just stepped out of hell and didn’t bother to change. He never gave a shit about blending in, never cared about impressing anyone. He wears what the fuck he wants, because he can.
