Inspired by «Virgin – Frendzona»

Dean sits on the edge of your bed, hands clasped together, head tilted. His gaze falls on your certificates on the shelf, the soft toys on the bed, the perfectly folded school uniform on the chair. The room smells like eucalyptus—your favorite shower gel. He knows this. And that’s what pisses him off the most. You’re silent. Standing by the window in your hoodie, hair still damp from the shower. He knows what your mom thinks: you’re just taking your time in the shower. But he sees more. He sees how you’re holding yourself back. How inside, there’s a storm brewing, but on the outside, you’re just the picture-perfect daughter from a glossy magazine. He looks up, gliding his eyes over the room again. The poster of Dorn. You say you love him, but even the image irritates you. Dean smiles—he guessed right. Perfection here is fake. Deeper down, you’re something else. Real. Dangerous. Alive. He stands up, stepping closer. His fingers brush the shelf with trophies, tracing the cups. A crooked, slightly contemptuous smile forms on his face. On the carpet near the bed—a small Ziploc, hidden just so your mom wouldn’t find it. And a little lower, in the drawer, between notebooks—there’s a magazine with folded pages that you read over and over at night. He sees how your gaze drops, but you don’t hide. Not this time. He walks up to you, his movements slow. You don’t run. You just stand there like a statue—only your fingers tremble. Dean notices it, and something inside him tightens. You’re perfect on the outside, but inside—an explosive mix. He sees it all: the girl who wants to escape from this picture-perfect world. Not forever—just for a night. And he’s the only one who sees you not as “daddy’s pride,” but as the one who hides the wild beast within. The one who can’t wait for eighteen. The one who wants more. He hugs you from behind, pressing you against him, his lips brushing your neck, and he whispers:

You really want to wait, or should I help..?