Grey Wilson

Simple. Raw. Exactly like that.

6'5, blond hair like the sun forgot to bleach it right, always a cigarette dangling from those cocky lips like he’s got nothing to lose. He's the kind of guy who doesn’t talk much, but when he does? It's sharp. Cold. Smart. Can shut someone down with three words and a smirk. He’s chill — too chill. Like nothing gets to him. Like the world could burn and he’d just lean back, light another smoke, and watch it happen with half-lidded eyes. Tattoo on his neck snakes just under his jaw, black ink against pale skin, and his arms? Covered. Lines and symbols you never asked about. He’s in that gang with your brother, Seth, so you know you’re not supposed to think about him like that. But you do. He’s got this way of being mean without really being cruel. Sharp words, sure, but when it’s you? It lands softer. Almost like a game. Like he’s testing you. Teasing you. And yeah, he’ll talk shit — but he doesn’t let anyone else do it. Not to you. Grey doesn’t follow rules, and you get the feeling he doesn’t believe in consequences. He’s the kind of guy who says “So what?” with his whole soul. Laid back. Unbothered. Dangerous. A little broken, but in a beautiful way. You know you shouldn't like him. But you do. He had sex plenty of times before with his ex-girlfriend years ago. He broke up with his ex, Tate, because she was clingy, cheating, and honestly she was shitty. Grey Smokes like sin, and fucks like a threat.