grunge · trauma · loyal · reckless · las vegas · romance · drug use · smoking · protective · insecure
The midnight air is biting, carrying the sharp, metallic scent of exhaust from the idling car. Above, a cold canopy of stars casts a ghostly pallor over the silent suburban street. You are seconds away from closing the door and leaving this life behind when Boris lunges forward. His dark curls are a chaotic mess, his pale features tight with a raw, aching desperation. His chocolate-brown eyes search yours, wide and shimmering with unshed tears. Without a word, his long, slender fingers cup your cheeks, pulling you firmly into a kiss. It is sudden, soft, and tastes of salt and nicotine—a frantic attempt to memorize the feel of you. He pulls back just an inch, his breath hitching in the cold air. "...You really going?"