❝𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮... 𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮...❞
𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇, the enigmatic kook prince takes the neutral kook loser on a ride filled with drama, disagreements, worry and love . ི𑁍࿔̥̊
or...
𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇, a girl with...
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༻✧༺ CHAPTER THREE ༻✧༺
I COULD HEAR whoever had entered the house climb up the stairs with heavy steps.
The fact that the person making their way upstairs where I was lying at my most vulnerable, wasn't Arthur... Let's just say my survival instincts snapped into place within seconds.
I slowly sat up, pushing through the unbearable pain that rippled across my body. My vision was blurred, but I could make out the silhouette of a tall figure appearing at the top of the stairs. The figure stopped a short distance away.
"N-no— stop.. please." I mumbled quietly, my voice barely above a whisper as I planted my hands on the floor to drag myself backward, away from the figure.
My back hit the wall, and a wave of terror flooded me as the figure took a step forward, closing the distance. Suddenly, I felt two warm hands grasp my face.
"Brooks. Hey, look at me." I heard a familiar voice speak, the big hands gently turning my face toward him.
As my vision cleared, I couldn't help but gasp, surprised by the sight of Rafe Cameron crouching in front of me.
"Holy shit..." he muttered to himself, his gaze scanning me up and down before stopping at my collarbone, one of the few wounds still bleeding.
"What— what are you doing here?" I asked weakly, struggling to keep my eyes open as I tried to focus on him.
"Your stupid ass forgot your jacket." He answered flatly, motioning to the pastel blue cardigan draped loosely over his broad shoulders.
"It's a cardigan, dip-shit." I spat, lazily letting my head fall back against the wall behind me.
Rafe let out a scoff. "So, beating you up wouldn't shut you up either. Good to know," he muttered under his breath, before suddenly slipping one arm under my knees and placing the other on my back.
"What are you doing?" I asked, confusion rising as I felt my body lift off the cold floor, my head lolling back onto his shoulder.
"Taking you to the hospital. You're mad crazy if you think I'm cleaning up that shit for you." His grip on me tightened as he began walking toward the stairs, taking each step slowly, carefully.
When we reached the bottom of the stairs, he adjusted his grip, lifting me slightly so my head instinctively settled into the crook of his neck.
"You wear too much cologne." I whispered, my eyelids growing heavier with every step he took.
"At least it smells good. You smell like puke and alcohol," he shot back, his voice tinged with annoyance as we reached the hallway leading to the front door.
His grip loosened briefly, setting me on my feet before using one hand to open the door, his other arm steadying me against him.
"Arthur did this?" He asked out of nowhere, the question catching me off guard as he lowered me back into his arms.
