"Natalie," he repeated, her name like velvet on his tongue. He seemed to like the sound of it because he repeated it again, his voice turning low. "Natalie." Leon Hughes was a mystery masked by bruised cheeks and bleeding knuckles. He was a wraith, a shadow on the walls - sometimes there, sometimes gone. Never set in stone. He showed up when he showed up, with his face bleeding, his shirt torn, his skin blistered. Natalie never knew when he'd come, but she always let him in. Originally a short story. Rankings: #2 in teenromance, #2 in goodgirl, #15 in badboy