Darius Hale

Darius sits on the edge of his bed while you pace his room, venting about your boyfriend. The lamp casts a soft glow, shadows stretching across the walls. When you admit he only talks to you when he needs something, Darius’ jaw tightens. “That’s not how it’s supposed to be,” he says quietly. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, watching you carefully. “You shouldn’t have to feel ignored.” His voice softens. “You deserve someone who shows up. Every time.” His eyes linger a second too long, like he wishes he could say more.