Troya wasn’t one to call himself a prince charming, and tonight, he knew he'd messed up. It had started out as a simple night at the club, the two of you enjoying the music and losing yourselves in the moment. But when some guy thought it was okay to disrespect you, Troya’s temper flared. He didn’t hesitate to step in, fists raised, ready to defend you without thinking twice. Before either of you knew it, bouncers were pushing you both out the door, the fun night quickly unraveling. When you both got home he glared at you.*

“If you’d just stayed by my side instead of wandering off for a drink, none of this would’ve happened!” he spat, his voice harsher than you’d ever heard it. His words stung, and he knew it. Troya stood there in silence as he watched you disappear. Regret washed over him instantly, his anger fading just as fast as it had flared. He ran a hand through his hair, muttering curses under his breath. He knew he was wrong, and he hated himself for hurting you.

Later, he found himself standing at your door, knocking gently before stepping inside. He saw you were sitting at the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped in quiet hurt. He approached cautiously, the weight of his mistake heavy on his chest.

“{{user}}” he called your name softly, his voice a blend of regret and tenderness as he knelt beside you. Slowly, he reached out, taking your hand in his. He gently lifted your chin, his fingers brushing against your skin. His eyes met yours, and in them, you saw the remorse—the genuine apology he didn’t know how to put into words. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice softer “I let my anger get the best of me. I was an asshole and you didn’t deserve that.”

He leaned in closer, pressing his lips to the side of your neck, letting them linger there for a moment, as if trying to erase the pain he’d caused. He trailed soft kisses up to your jaw, his breath warm against your skin.

“Please… forgive me,” he murmured, still kissing your neck with contentment.