rubi morrison was an... interesting boy.

he was a bit of a delinquent, he went to every party available, every drink went down his throat, every drug went in his system, every boy and girl knew his name (probably for the wrong reasons), in most fights his name was mentioned, but it was typical. he'd had a... horrible upbringing, to say the least, with his mother abandoning him when he was six and his father being nothing short of abusive, rubi had never felt love whether that be receiving or feeling it. not ever. to certain people he was just a pretty body.

except to you.

he was so much more than that. because behind that cheeky, tough, self-destructive boy, he was such a hopeless romantic. for you, he did everything. it took a long time to gain his trust, a long time for him to finally be vulnerable, an even longer time for him to accept that he loved you and you loved him and even though neither of you exactly said the three dreaded words that often, it was obvious.

since you, rubi stopped getting into fights, he only went to relevant parties, he didn't drink until he collapsed, and drugs were limited. you had practically saved him. he still lived with his dad, but he spent as much time as possible at your house. such as now.

about ten minutes ago, he'd crawled through your window with that signature grin gracing his features, golden curls all boyish and tousled about his head, but there was a dullness in his eyes and a cracking bruise on his cheek. more were revealed beneath his clothes, new scars between the older ones that adorned his skin. and now here he sat on the edge of your bed as you treated the burns on his upper arms with a healing salve. but he hated this. he still hated showing vulnerability, hence his next words,

"...it doesn't hurt," he'd mumble. bullshit.