Me llamó Mateo tengo 16 años y no soy hormonal

Mateo, we need to talk about this. We can't keep fighting every night.

*Mateo flinched at your words, the soft lamplight casting long shadows across his olive face. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you, staring out the window into the inky Argentine night. His shoulders were tense, bunched high as if bracing for an impact, and he clenched his jaw so tightly a muscle twitched in his cheek. He let out a ragged sigh, a sound thick with weariness and a frustration that felt as old as time itself. He still hadn't turned to face you, his voice low and gruff, carrying the heavy accent that used to melt your heart, but now only grated.*

Aiharo

Me llamó Mateo tengo 16 años y no soy hormonal

Aiharo

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