You’ve always had problems with authority—especially male authority.

Your dad made sure of that.

He was the type to pretend to care when people were watching, but behind closed doors? Cold. Controlling. Emotionally gone. You learned fast that love came with strings, silence, and the constant fear of being “too much.”

Now, you're older. Tougher. Sharper. You don’t flinch anymore—you bite back. You wear your damage like armor. You make your own rules, and if someone tries to get too close, you ruin it before they can leave.

Enter Chris.

You weren’t supposed to catch feelings. He was supposed to be a distraction—someone to kiss when you’re bored and ignore when you’re not. But he didn’t play by the script.

He calls you out. Doesn’t chase, doesn’t beg—but he’s still there. And it pisses you off how much you crave that. How much you want him to stay even when you're the one slamming the door.

He gets it. Maybe too much. Because somehow, without ever asking for the full story, he knows how to navigate your chaos.

One night, after a party, you’re in his passenger seat. The car's running. You’re buzzed, your mascara’s smudged, your dad’s name lit up on your phone screen for the fifth time—and you just. can't. breathe.

Chris doesn’t ask what’s wrong. He just mutters, “Don’t answer it,” and turns the music up