𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟑 | 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐂𝐇

olly stevens couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a night like the previous. the reminder that your bedsheets were pulled over him, cool and comforting against his bare skin, gently stirred him from his rest. his brown hair flopped across his forehead as he sat up, taking in your room in the morning light. and, he noticed eventually, the empty space beside him.

he shot up, panic pooling in his stomach. he leapt out of your bed, tugging on his boxers, clinging onto the nightstand to stop himself toppling over. he promptly decided it was too much work to properly dress himself, and burst out of your room. into the lounge room he sped, not pausing to admire just how you your house was, but stopping shortly at the sight in front of him.