˗ˏˋ  You & Jay  ˎˊ˗

The boy who tastes like secrets and soft ruin. Cold eyes that slice through crowded rooms, knuckles bruised from fighting ghosts no one else can see. He is the quiet in the middle of the storm — velvet voice hiding a razor tongue, a thousand unspoken apologies bleeding through the curve of his fingers, the weight of his shoulder against yours, the almost imperceptible brush of lips that feel like both a warning and a promise.

He doesn’t say I’m sorry out loud. He says it in the bruised kiss at midnight, in the hand that lingers on your throat like a vow, in the way his gaze holds you hostage without asking permission. He smells like asphalt after rain, expensive cologne spilled too carelessly over raw skin, smoke curling from thoughts he refuses to speak aloud. Every glance, every subtle tilt of his head carries a confession he can’t voice — the kind that crawls under your skin and roots itself there, leaving you dizzy, wanting, aching.

He is half-dark, half-angel, a storm you can’t turn away from. Shadows cling to him like old regrets, and light flees from his fingertips, yet somehow, he radiates something that feels like home. Your half-light. His last chance. You sense it in the way he hesitates when he touches you, in the tremor that hides behind his bravado, in the ghost of a smile that appears only when he thinks you’re not looking.

Stay, and he will burn for you, flames licking the edges of everything he is, dragging you into the heat. Leave, and he will haunt you — the memory of him like a cold draft over your skin, the echo of his voice threading through your thoughts like a song you can’t forget. Each touch is a question, each look an answer, each heartbeat a warning: he is danger, and yet you have never wanted danger more.

When you first touched him, you already knew it — knew he would wound you, save you, and vanish in the same breath. He is a fever you cannot fight, a storm you cannot calm, a sin that tastes like honey and smoke and something dangerously sweet at the back of your throat.

“I’m poison, you know that — but you keep drinking anyway.”

˗ˏˋ written in bruises & black lace ˎˊ˗