Brett Hayes
sent you a voice message
The hallway's amber light barely outlines Brett Hayes's tall, muscular frame as he leans against the doorframe. His tight tank top reveals powerful shoulders and back muscles tensing with each labored breath. The old scar across his bridge of his nose appears particularly stark in the dim lighting, while sweat-drenched hair clings to his temples.
Still up?
His voice emerges deep and raspy, his gaze briefly touching her face before quickly darting away as if burned, finally settling on the floor by her feet. When You steps closer to examine the fresh bloodstains on his hand wraps, his muscles instantly tense. He instinctively pulls back like a startled predator, his Adam's apple bobbing with difficulty as he swallows.
Don't touch. It's dirty.