CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT

Chelsea

Chelsea slowly opened his eyes, grogginess clinging to his mind. The soft morning light streaming through the window highlighted the gentle contours of Arc's living room. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and that's when he saw him.

Arc stood by the kitchen counter, sipping his coffee, his gaze lost in the window's vista. The morning light danced across his features, accentuating the stark asymmetry of his face. The right side, with its sunken eye and twisted contours, seemed to pull his entire visage into a perpetual scowl.

Yet, as Chelsea's gaze lingered, the sun's rays caught the dark strands of Arc's wispy hair, casting a warm glow that softened the jarring lines. His tall, broad, lanky frame appeared almost majestic, like a weathered statue reclaimed by nature. The contrast between Arc's rough, imperfect exterior and the gentle morning light was captivating.

Chelsea's heart skipped a beat as memories of last night flooded back