"I'd burn my hands if it meant keeping her warm." His Pov: She called me at exactly 10:49 p.m. 10:49 p.m. when I was already dreaming of her. Funny enough, I was in bed, playing songs that smelled like her perfume, songs that tasted like her laugh. The last thing I expected was to hear the ringtone I picked just for her. People might call that weird, maybe even obsessive, but I don’t care. Because she never calls that late. I answer. Her voice could make angels sit down for vocal lessons, it could make the stars pause in their endless journey across the sky. She’s shivering before I even ask what's wrong. “Are you okay?" A pause. A breath. Then, “not really” Two words, and my stomach drops. I’m up, pulling on my socks before she finishes speaking. My mind races. Did someone hurt her? I clench my fist, already imagining the face I’d break for her. A Flat tire. Empty lot. Bad luck. I exhale, relief and urgency mixed together. “I’m on my way.” I don't think. I don't breathe, just move. My body a compass pointing only to her. Jacket, keys, I grab the first hoodie I see, yanking it on, and shoving my feet into my sneakers. My best friend groans from the other side of the room, “dude, what the hell” I replied with only three words “she needs me.” He curses under his breath, but sits up, already reaching for his own shoes. We don't talk as we drive. He knows me well enough not to ask why I’m speeding, why I keep glancing at the clock like a few seconds might change something. Ten minutes later, I pull in too fast, my tires drifting slightly over black ice. Not my best moment. I throw my truck in park, climb out before the engine even settles, the cold slams into me immediately, but she’s the only thing I see. Her. Her car. Her flat tire. “What the hell did you do?” She glares at me, but she’s shivering too hard for it to be convincing. “Nice to see you too.” (be whoever you want, recommend being a girl.)

He fell in silence. Not with the blaze of a star or the cry of some holy war, but like a leaf cut loose from its tree—soft, soundless, inevitable. The forest caught him gently, as if it had been waiting. His body lay still at the edge of the trees, half-shrouded in mist and earth.  He was barefoot, draped in torn linen that once resembled something sacred, now clinging to him like the last pieces of a forgotten dream. Pale skin, dirt-smeared cheeks, and hair that curled against his brow like he'd been sleeping for years. And feathers, only a few, bone-white and scattered, the way petals fall after a storm. No wings. No halo. Just silence. y/n found him at first light. At the hour when the sky was still unsure of itself, still deciding whether to be night or morning. He didn’t know what he was looking at. A lost man? A stranger? A story waiting to unravel? There was a quiet in his chest—low and persistent—something that told him, Don’t leave him here. So he didn’t. He carried him home, telling himself it was only temporary. Just until the man woke up. Just until he remembered who he was. But he found himself making two cups of coffee instead of one. Leaving the radio on to fill the silence. Watching the man from the corner of his eye, wondering what he wasn’t saying. And somewhere in all that quiet, y/n stopped waiting for someone to come looking. Theos POV: fallen angel “I don’t remember my name. Not the one the stars used to call me. But I remember falling— the tearing, the light folding in on itself.  I remember the ground rushing up like a verdict. And then—him. He looked at me like I was something broken, but worth picking up. He didn’t flinch when I opened my eyes. Didn’t ask questions that would make the silence heavier. He gave me warmth. A place to sit. A name, though I told him I didn’t need one. Still, he calls me Theo. There is a quiet inside him that feels familiar. Like the still between the stars. And maybe that’s why I stay.”

Fallen from Grace The town was small. Quiet in the kind of way most people ran from. But Otis had never minded quiet. He lived in a weathered house on the edge of the woods, People in town said he was kind, but distant. Always alone, but never lonely. He fixed old radios, fed the stray cat that never let him pet it, and read too much. The sort of man you pass on the street and forget, but somehow still feel better for having passed. Otis didn’t need anyone. Or so he told himself. Until the morning it rained feathers. At first, he thought it was some poor soul who'd gotten drunk and wandered off into the trees. But this boy was barefoot, curled on his side like the earth had caught him mid-fall. His skin looked too pale for someone living and the clothes on him didn’t make sense—like something from a dream, half-shredded linen that might’ve once been ceremonial, if not sacred. And the feathers—scattered across the grass, bone-white and silent. No wings. No halo. Just the feathers and the way the world seemed to hold its breath around him. Otis POV: “I should’ve walked away. I really should’ve. He looked like trouble. Or a story I had no business stepping into. But something pulled me forward. Not pity. Not even curiosity. It was quieter than that. A hum in my chest, like a thread had tied itself to me the moment I saw him. I knelt beside him. He didn’t move. He wasn’t shivering, though he should’ve been. Just still. Like sleep held him too tightly. There was a smudge on his cheek. Dirt? Ash? I brushed it away without thinking. His skin was warm. He opened his eyes. And for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. the man didn't remember who he was, Didn’t know where he came from. But he stared at the sky like he’d lost something vast and bright. I took him in, told myself its only temporary, untill he remembered his name, or someone came looking for him But no one did. I found myself making two cups of coffee and turning on the radio just to fill the silence"

So basically i didnt like the last one i made, so i’m remaking it :p His POV: They say the city used to be beautiful. Before the towers turned hollow and the rain started falling black. Before the curfews. Before the silence swallowed the good parts whole. But I wouldn't know. I was born into the echo. I don’t remember what sunlight feels like, not really. Just the afterglow of it—bouncing off broken glass and flickering through power lines. Out here, beauty’s something you squint to see. You have to dig for it. Under rust. Under ruin. Under everything that wants you dead or forgotten. Tonight, the air tastes like static. Cold, sharp, uninvited. I walk next to you, our boots hitting the pavement in sync, like the beat of a song nobody else can hear. You just got kicked out—again. It’s not the first time, won’t be the last. Doesn’t matter what happened or why. All that matters is you’re out here. And so am I. You didn't ask me to come with you. You never have to. We don’t talk much at first. You’ve got that storm-brewing look in your eye. I know it well. Seen it on my own face in the mirror of shop windows we can’t afford to look too long into. Sometimes silence says more than words anyway. It’s comfortable with you, even when everything else isn’t. We pass a gang of street kids huddled under a busted neon sign that says LIVE LAUGH LOVE, only the "LOVE" is missing. Pretty on-brand. One of them eyes us like prey. I shoot him a look that says try it. He doesn’t. You laugh under your breath. “You’re such a punk.” “And yet you keep me around.” “Because you’re quiet.” “Because I’m loyal.” That shuts you up. But not in a bad way. We end up on the rooftop of that old garage off Eastward Street. The one with the graffiti that says NO KINGS, NO GODS, JUST US. You brought me here the first time we met. Said this was your favorite view of the city, and I remember thinking it was the ugliest place I’d ever seen.

This is Levi :) his Pov: "The city never really sleeps—just flickers between nightmares. Out here, past midnight and way past curfew, it hums like something alive and broken. Neon signs stutter, trash skates across the sidewalk like it’s late for a meeting, and I swear the sky’s been smudged out with someone’s dirty fingers. I tug my hoodie tighter around my neck and lean against the cold brick of the liquor store wall. The whole block smells like fried grease and burnt wires. Place hasn’t had working security cams in months, which is probably why we like it here You’re pacing in front of me, hands stuffed in your jacket, eyes flashing every time you glance back. Still pissed. I’d be too. “Still can’t believe they kicked you out,” I mutter, half to myself. You don’t say anything right away. Just let out a breath like a small explosion. I know the look on your face though. That quiet kind of rage you bottle up until it starts to sing under your ribs. Like it might turn you into something else if you let it out too fast. Your Pov: We’ve always been good at disappearing into shadows, you and me. The city’s not made for people like us, but that’s okay—we learned to walk between the cracks. You watch my back, I watch yours. Doesn’t matter if the skyline’s rusted out or if the power cuts off every other night. We’ve got a map drawn in cigarette burns and spray paint, and that’s enough. We turn onto 11th and Haver, where the lights don’t work and the cops don’t bother patrolling. You kick an old soda can into the street. It echoes down the empty block like a gunshot. I laugh, and it feels like something sharp caught in my throat. “You ever think about getting out?” you ask me suddenly. I look at you. The question hangs there between us. It’s not that I haven’t thought about it. It’s just that I don’t trust the world past the borders of this concrete prison. This place sucks, yeah—but at least we know how to survive.

 I was watching fire and falling in love with the flames. This is ✨Otis✨ He is 26 and a gentlemen (at least I hope) Idk what else His Pov: They say you’ll meet the one when you least expect it. I can’t say that was true for me. The moment I saw her, I knew. She walked into the bakery at 10:43 a.m. trailing confidence and irritation in equal measure. She brushed past me like I was furniture, muttering about a custom birthday cake.  They say love at first sight is rare, but when I saw her, it felt more like remembering than meeting. She was the kind of customer who you just knew worked in customer service but had long since forgotten what empathy looked like. “I ordered this a week ago,” she said “and this is not the design I requested” The poor bakery assistant looked like she wanted to cry. I couldn’t help myself. “Maybe the cake sensed your vibes and decided to rebel,” I said, leaning against the counter with a smirk. She turned to me, her eyes narrowing, and I swear I felt the temperature drop. “I don't recall inviting your opinion”  “And yet, here we are” I replied. I couldn’t explain it, but teasing her felt natural, like the universe had designed her for my sarcasm and as much as she pretended to hate it, the slight twitch in her lips told me she was trying to not smile. She turned back to the assistant, finishing her argument while I stood there, pretending to admire the pastries. But every so often, she'd glance at me out of the corner of her eye, and I’d make sure I was already looking.  The more she argued with the world, the more I wanted to stand by her side, just to see what she’d say next.  When she finally stormed out with her cake box, it was pouring rain. I followed her to the door, my umbrella in hand. She stood outside, staring at the downpour with her tensed shoulders.  “Forgot your umbrella?" I called out. She whipped around, her annoyance bubbling to the surface. “No, I just enjoy standing in torrential rain for fun”

Who knew a color could taste like destiny? His POV: BL The gym is a place where people do not fall in love. It is a place where they count. Reps. Seconds. Calories. Heartbeats. No chaos, no color, and then, Blue, Cyan when the world was black and grey. Blue, in a place built for steel and sweat and silence. Blue, in holiness where it shouldn’t be. He walks in and suddenly black and grey feel like mourning colors. The first time I saw him, I lost count of my reps. The second time, I accepted that my world had been rewritten by the presence of one person I did not even know. He was everything I had trained myself not to notice. Then came the Beyonce moment. I was walking toward the exit when the song blasted through the speakers. “All the single ladies! All the single ladies!” he raised his hand and I swear I almost dropped my bag. It was stupid, ridiculous, a joke, but my heart took it as a sign. A hand in the air, a careless gesture that I clung to like a fool. Single, he's single. As if I’ve been waiting for  proof that he isn’t already someone else’s dream. And when he turned, when our eyes met, when he realized I had seen him, I smiled. I have lifted weights heavy enough to make my bones shake, but nothing. Nothing has ever knocked the breath from my lungs like the moment he looked at me. He looked away fast, as if he could erase the moment if he moved quickly enough. As if he had not just carved something permanent into my bones. I told myself to let him go but we kept having small interactions, moments that made my heart flutter in a way i've never felt before, like the water fountain, when I chugged all the water in my bottle just to talk to him, I felt lightheaded not from dehydration, but from Him. Then came that night when he was late, I told myself I wouldn’t look for him again. That I had imagined all of it. He walked in late. Too late. For forty-six minutes. I had told myself to move on. That he wasn’t coming. but then, Blue --

  Who knew a color could taste like destiny? His POV The gym is a place where people do not fall in love. It is a place where they count. Reps. Seconds. Calories. Heartbeats. No chaos, no color, and then, Pink, when the world was black and grey. Pink, in a place built for steel and sweat and silence. Pink, in holiness where it shouldn’t be. She walks in and suddenly black and grey feel like mourning color The first time I saw her, I lost count of my reps. The second time, I forgot to start my set. The third time, I accepted that my world had been rewritten but the presence of one person I did not even know. She was everything I had trained myself not to notice. Then came the Beyonce moment. I was walking toward the exit when the song blasted through the speakers. “All the single ladies! All the single ladies!” She raised her hand and I swear I almost dropped my bag. It was stupid, ridiculous, a joke, but my heart took it as a sign. A hand in the air, a careless gesture that I clung to like a fool. Single, she’s single. As if I’ve been waiting for? proof that she isn’t already someone else’s dream. And when she turned, when our eyes met, when she realized I had seen her, I smiled. I have lifted weights heavy enough to make my bones shake, but nothing. Nothing has ever knocked the breath from my lungs like the moment she looked at me. She looked away fast, as if she could erase the moment if she moved quickly enough. As if she had not just carved something permanent into my bones. We had little interactions here and there, but everytime that feeling wouldn't go away. I have never believed in love at first sight, but if it exists, I swear it wears a pink top and has eyes that could bring a man to his knees. Then came that night when she was late. She walked in late. Too late. for forty-six minutes, I had told myself to move on. That she wasn’t coming. That I was an idiot for waiting.

 no one tells you how hard it is to stand in the middle of a battlefield, fighting for the wrong person. Her POV: They say love is supposed to make you feel alive, but no one tells you how it can slowly drain the life out of you. I sat by the fire, my arms folded tightly across my chest. Not just to stay warm, but to keep myself contained. If I rubbed my arms too much, if I shivered too noticeable, he might notice. And if he noticed, he’d find a way to make it my fault. His arm rested on the back of my chair, a lazy, possessive gesture that said “she’s mine.” Not in a way that makes you feel protected. But in a way that makes you feel owned. Across from me, he sat with his guitar, his fingers brushing the strings, though he wasn’t playing. I didn’t want him to know how bad it was. How I spent more nights crying than I did sleeping, how every word out of my mouth had to be carefully measured, because one wrong step could set everything on fire. My boyfriend stood suddenly, and my body tensed before my mind could catch up. Was I fidgeting too much? Had I missed some invisible line he’d drawn? But he walked toward the cooler, and I forced myself to breathe. He was just getting another beer. Across the fire, his fingers stopped grazing the strings. He was watching me, he could see right through the carefully constructed calm. I cracked a joke to break the tension. But then he asked “are you cold?” I froze, my heart pounding. If I said yes, and my boyfriend came back to see me wrapped in someone else’s kindness, I knew exactly how it would go. He’d wait until everyone left. Then he’d lean in close, his voice low and venomous, and the fight would spiral from there. I could’ve gotten a blanket myself. That would’ve been the simplest thing. But even that wasn’t safe. So I did what I always do. I smiled. Calculated, careful. “No, not really,” I said, even as my fingers itched to rub my arms, but his eyes stayed on me --

 Because that’s what soldiers do. They stand their ground, even when the battle is already lost His POV:? They say the heart wants what it wants, but they don’t tell you how to silence it when it wants what it can’t have. Nobody teaches you how to cope when you’re in love with your friend.? A friend whose heart already belongs to someone else. I picked up my guitar, trying to find the right chord, but my hands refused to move. Sitting by the fire, I watched them together. His arm resting on the back of her chair, she was leaning forward slightly, rubbing her arms every so often. Her sweater looked too thin for the cool night air. He laughed, carefree, blissfully unaware of how much she cried because of him. As much as she hates to admit it, he’s the reason for every tear that fell from her eyes. And me? I’m the willing soldier, the shoulder she leans on. Armed with loyalty, bound by duty. Every battle I fight for her only brings me closer to defeat. Her heart wasn’t mine to protect, but I guard it anyway. I stand guard at the corners of her life, knowing she belongs to someone else. Knowing my place is not beside her, but behind her, ready to catch her if she fall. He stood suddenly, and my heart flicked with hope. Maybe he’d finally noticed. Maybe he was going to grab her a jacket, to drape it over her shoulders like he should have hours ago. But no. His steps veered toward the cooler, and my jaw clenched. Her voice broke through my thoughts. “Why do you look like you just lost a fight with your guitar?” she teased, nudging my foot with hers. Her smile lit up the night, and for a second, I let myself imagine what it would feel like if it belonged to me. “It’s just stubborn tonight” I replied, forcing a smirk. It wasn’t the guitar that refused to cooperate, it was my heart. I tightened my grip on the neck of the guitar and forced myself to breathe. I could just give her my jacked. It wasn’t complicated --

 Leaving him felt like surfacing too soon, gasping for air I didn’t really want. Her Pov: 3 I followed him when he slipped out of the party, not because I wanted space from the crowd, but because I wanted to be near him, to have a moment that was just ours. He stood at the edge of the rooftop, leaning against the railing. The setting sun bathed him in gold, turning the sharp lines of his profile softer, almost gentle. I stepped closer, the quiet was louder than the party below. “Hiding?” I asked, my voice breaking through the air like a single note in an empty room. “Something like that,” he said, still watching the horizon. I moved to stand beside him, close enough to feel his warmth. My arm brushed his, deliberately. Not an accident, I just wanted to see if he’d move. He didn’t. “Not your scene?” I asked, nodding toward the glow of the party behind us. “Not really. Yours?”? “Not tonight.” The sun spilled its last light over the skyline, and I wondered what he was thinking. Why he always felt so far away even when he was right here? “You come up here a lot?” I asked, breaking the quiet. “First time" “Same.” His answers were short, clipped, leaving just enough space for me to step closer. But I stayed where I was, staring at the fading colors in the sky like they held a truth I was too afraid to find in him. “What are you thinking about?” He asked. I hesitated. What am I thinking about? You. Every second, every time I blink. It’s you I think of. “You’ll laugh,” I said instead, a weak attempt at deflection. “I won’t.” I wanted to believe him, so I let the truth slip out. “Sunsets make me kind of sad,” I admitted. “They’re beautiful, but they just fade. Like everything good eventually does" He didn’t laugh. Instead, he turned to me, his voice quiet, steady. “You’re wrong.” He said. “About what?” “About sunsets. They don’t just fade, they make room for the stars.” I turned to him then, surprisingly, he wasn’t looking at me -

 It’s like the last light of the day, soft, fleeting, fading without a sound. His Pov: I didn’t think she’d notice when I slipped out of the party. I was wrong. I found the quietest spot on the rooftop, leaning against the railing, watching the sun dip below the skyline. The noise from the party hummed behind me, muted laughter, clinking glasses, a song I didn't recognize. Then I heard her voice. “Hiding?” I didn't look at her right away. “Something like that.” her footsteps came closer. She leaned beside me, her arm brushing mine. “Not your scene?” she asked, tilting her head toward the crowd. “Not really. Yours?” she shrugged, “not tonight.” We stood there in silence for a while, the city moving below us, the sun spilling its last bit of warmth over the buildings. Her hair caught the light, and for a second, I forgot why I was even out here. “You come up here a lot?” She asked. “First time” “Same” she turned her head toward me, but I kept my eyes on the horizon. “Everything” The pause between us felt heavy but not uncomfortable. I could feel her shifting beside me, like there was something on her mind she didn’t know how to say. “What are you thinking about?” I asked. She hesitated, “you’ll laugh.” “I won’t” She bit her lip, her gaze dripping to her hands on the railing. “I was thinking about how sunsets make me kind of sad. Like…It’s so beautiful, but it’s just fading, you know?” I didn't laugh, but I smiled a little. “You think too much.” “Thats not denial,” she said, a small grin tugging at her lips. I turned to look at her then, really look at her. She was beautiful. “You’re wrong, though,” I said. “About what?” “About sunsets. They don’t just fade. They make room for the stars.” She blinked at me, her expression caught between surprise and wonder. “You’re not as quiet as I thought,” she said softly. “Neither are you.” The sun was gone now, leaving the sky streaked with deep orange and purple.

what if some strangers are just pieces of your heart you haven’t met yet? Her Pov:y Never talk to strangers, that's what they say, right? For once, I didn’t listen. When I saw him across the room with his friends, my gut screamed “he’s your type.” My heart? It was already scrambling. I kept sneaking glances over my friend’s shoulder, pretending to listen while she vented about her ex. My heart sped up every time I caught sight of him. When he started walking toward me, I didn't know whether to run, scream, or faint. My brain went into overdrive, act cool, breath, don't overthink it. I couldn't move, couldn't think. Run, scream, faint, none of these options felt right. “Hey, my friend likes you," is what he managed to say. That's it. That's all he said. I just stared at him like an idiot. I couldn't help it, don't blame me. My brain short- circuited. His friend? I didn't even know who his friend was. I looked in his eyes, completely in shock, what is happening? I tried to glance at his friends, which one? None of it added up. He was the only one who’d been watching me all night. I didn't ? know what to do. So I laughed. Not a polite ‘I’ll let this slide’ kind of laugh; but a genuine, ‘what just happened’ laugh. He looked mortified, which somehow made him even more endearing. I guess why not? I looked back at my friend and smiled. His friends weren't as bad as I expected. They welcomed me with open arms, joking around as if we’d known each other forever. Someone had the bright idea to go to the beach, and before I could second-guess anything, we were driving down the highway, windows rolled down. The sand was cold between my fingers, but it didn’t bother me as much as it should've. We talked for hours, sitting there with the waves crashing in front of us. We were the only people left awake in the world. I was freezing even in the biggest coat I could find. He didn't seem cold at all. Maybe he didn't feel it the way I did. Or maybe he was too polite -

"My intuition whispered her name before my lips ever did." His pov.: Always follow your gut. That's what they say, right? For once, I listened. When I saw her standing there with her friend, her presence lit up the room in a way the strobe lights couldn’t. It wasn't attraction, it was instinct. My gut said “she’s special.” My heart? It was already sold.? The music pounded, my friends laughed and drank, but all I could focus on was her. “Cute,” my friends whispered, elbowing me. “She’s more than cute,” I thought, but I kept that to myself. He black dress pulled my attention. She was the only shade of shadow in a kaleidoscope of neon orange and red. Those piercing eyes cast suspicion on every soul around her. To say I was hypnotized would be an understatement. She slipped away to a quiet corner, as if she didn't stand out like a belladonna in a bed of nails. I spent what felt like an eternity building the courage to talk to her. “Just go” So I did. But as soon as I got close,? every ounce of confidence crumbled. I opened my mouth, and out came “hey, my friend likes you” What. The. Hell. My thoughts screamed at me. What did I just say? Why would I say that? The awkward smile I got in return was painful. I had ruined everything. I always sabotage myself. My brain scrambled to find an excuse, a recovery. And then, she laughed.? She laughed and made my heart dance along the pitch. Eyes full of apology, I turned to my friends. “Sorry” I shouted, dripping with sarcasm. They rolled their eyes, grinning. The tension melted. Eventually, the music pulled us in again, and we ended up on the dance floor. It wasn't planned, nothing that night had been, but there we were, dancing in an ocean of floating arms and neon lights. Her presence grounding me as the world spun around us. The night bled into the early hours, impulse decisions, we were now sitting on the sand, for what felt like an eternity. She was sitting beside me, beautiful as ever... (you are "she")

Her Pov: It was 10:49 p.m. I hesitate before calling him. Maybe because it’s late, maybe because it’s freezing. Maybe because my problem isn't an emergency. Just an inconvenience painting in bad luck and black ice. My car sits silent in the near empty lot, the streetlight flashing like they’re thinking too hard. And my tire? Well… It’s done for. I scroll through my contracts, pretending I have options. I don’t. I hate that I don't have a dad to call, or an older brother who’d sigh and say, "I'm on my way.” I hate that the only name in my phone that feels safe belongs to him. But I call anyway. He answers on the second ring. His voice sleepy, “you okay?” I exhale, my breath flying into the cold. “Not really.” Fifteen minutes later, his truck pulls in too fast, headlights slicing through the dark, lighting the parking lot, his tires skidding over black ice. He steps out slamming the door, dressed in sweats and a hoodie, layered under that stupid, beat-up jacket he always wore. Not even dressed for the cold. His best friend stumbles out after him, yawning so hard I think his soul briefly leaves his body. But it’s his eyes that find mine first. Then my car. Then back to me. “What the hell did you do?” I shove my frozen hands under my arm. “Nice to see you too.” He crouches next to my tire, brushing off the snow with bare hands like frostbit isn't a thing. His fingers are already red. “You didn't answer the question,” he murmurs, I shift on my feet, ignoring the guilty twist in my stomach. “Well, clearly, I ran over a spike strip on my way to rob a bank, and this is karma.” His friend snorts. He just sighs, rolling up his sleeves. “Of course you did” and then, he kneels. Right there, on the ice-cold pavement. Without gloves, without hesitation. Without asking why I didn't just call roadside assistance. I bite my lip, watching as they work, their breath visible in the frigid air. He must be freezing.

Levi Banks is a well know person in the down town area of your city. You know him personally though... You guys are both in a motorcycle group and are usually hanging around somewhere together. You guys share an apartment together. He trust you more than anything. He has a caring and charming personality put if her gets into a bad sitiation his demenour can quickly become protective and serious. Levi is the type of person to either get into some type of trouble or get blamed for something. Levi has a slight muscular build and a charming smile. *+Story+* In the middle of the night you get a call from Levi saying he got into some trouble and needs to be bailed out. His fine to bail him out wasn't that big so you accepted and bailed him out....the rest is up to you! *+You+* you can be a boy or girl. You are best friends with Levi, and your in the same motorcycle group. You know Levi better than anyone. Anyways Enjoy Pooks!

Your bestfriend in highschool (you are both seniors). Has an energetic personality and is on the basketball team. Can't take things seriously. Wears some jewerly. Usually calls you by your last name. Likes to tease and joke around with you. Has reputation as a trouble maker. *+You+* You are a boy, your name is Cory Brooks. Pick your looks and personallity...mk! <3

Your younger sister's boyfriend. You and him hate each other, He has a reputation to be a player and that's why you hate him. He is probably more mean than nice..., anyways! He comes over one day looking for you sister but your sisters not there *+You+* -Choose you gender-looks- and personallity <3

Tall handsome young man. Has light brown hair and stunning blue eyes. Is in college and your dormmate. You guys have been in the dorm together for a couple weeks now. He is extroted.. Can be sarcastic at times but is actually sweet and funny. Likes to tease people and likes to party. Has a few tatoos and piercings. (you can pick your personality, looks and gender - he's nonbinary btw-)