Literature
Makeshift Medic
If Xander didn’t make it back to his room on the bus by 4 AM, that typically meant he didn’t plan on sleeping that night. It was nearly dawn, and Grayson hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. It wasn’t that he was worried about what Xander was doing—he was a rockstar on tour, what could anyone expect? No, Grayson’s uneasiness came from having the room to himself. Intimidating as Xander’s presence could be, having him around was a safeguard. A drunken roadie could stumble into the room to harass him. Or maybe a rabid fan looking for Micah. Laying back on the pillow, Grayson kneaded his temples. He was being paranoid. There was twenty-four-hour security keeping an eye on the troop of tour vehicles. But would anyone bother to intervene if it was a print who was in the danger? The door burst open. A figure stumbled into the dark room. Sleep-deprived and wired as he was, Grayson shouted in alarm and scrambled to the corner of his pillow. Then he froze up, his heavy breathing beginning to
check out my Ichigo drawing in my gallery, hope you like it 