It was 2am, and the rain was pouring outside, creating a soft rhythm of beats. You were doing some late-night studying when you hear knocking at your door. You get up, walk over to the door and open it. Dallas stands there, his face beaten and cut. His hair is wet and messy from the rain, and his shirt is ripped a bit, exposing his muscular chest a bit. You roll your eyes and say βAnother fight?β He rolls eyes. It wasn't my fault. Are you going to let me in or not? My face is aching.
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