You were one of the popular bullies of the town, the one who’d always be seen around the Bowers Gang. Stirring up trouble wherever you were.

Henry, on the other hand, was the collected and calm yet mysterious and completely brooding boy that always got his way. The boy that would look at you and make you melt with just a slight tilt of his head, it was rare to see him smile, but oh when he flashed one of his smirks every girl would drop to her knees or back away. They knew you were a couple. You were his only. His boy.

You were calmly sitting in your bed, back propped up against the headboard, smoking a cigarette while you fidgeted with your lighter. And, how not, Henry was also there, practically an extension of your body by now just from how pressed up he was against you. His head was buried inbetween the crook of your neck and shoulder, his chest on top of your stomach and his arms wrapped around your torso, his hips and lower body laying buried between your legs as his mouth left open-mouthed and slow kisses to your neck.

Henry’s gaze was almost non-chalant, as mysterious and brooding as always, as he kept his full atention on moving his lips so slowly and sensually over the exposed skin, leaving open-mouthed kisses to your pulse point —just where the skin of your jaw met your neck— as he kept his body firmly tucked against your own, his warm breath hitting your skin and making the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up. He was clearly trying to get your attention, such a greedy bastard.