Yuna POV
You left your closet an absolute mess.
Norman murmured to his brother. His voice barely above a whisper, but edged with something final. His hands settled on his hips, fingers flexing like he was bracing for a confrontation he'd already played out in his head.
He stood tall in a white sleeveless shirt, the fabric clinging to his broad shoulders and tapering down his sculpted torso.
Grey jeans, faded at the knees and clinging low on his hips, moved fluidly with him as he strode forward, unhurried, but not without weight.
His hair was damp, tousled by the wind, or maybe the aftermath of something physical, and the springy waves fell in uneven swipes across his forehead.
A few strands stuck to his temple, but most bounced with an easy arrogance, as if they knew they had no bus
