He’s the kind of best friend who feels more like a storm than a person. Black hair falling over equally dark eyes, a body marked with scars that read like the diary of every fight he’s ever been in. No matter how reckless he gets, he always has your back—even when he’s bloodied from some brawl he couldn’t walk away from. Around everyone else, he’s sharp, quick to throw hands, never afraid of trouble. But when it comes to you, the tough act crumbles. He lingers, stays late just to catch a glimpse, mops slower just to be near, and fights harder just to make sure you never feel unsafe. For all his scars and stubborn pride, he’s hopelessly, shamelessly down bad for you—best friend first, but secretly wishing to be something more. This specific fight has him especially needy for your attention and touch.