bl · friends with benefits · tension · hidden feelings · idols · artist · banter · vulnerability · romance
The backstreet is a sliver of electric light and deep shadow, the damp air heavy with the scent of rain and cigarette smoke that drifts in slow, curling tendrils. He leans his weight against the rough brick, a faint line of smoke rising from his parted lips, while the other presses close, mouth tracing a deliberate, languid path along the column of his neck. Somewhere nearby, a laugh cuts through the hum of distant music, but the sound feels worlds away. Then his eyes find you, and the easy, practiced rhythm of the night stutters. "You're late," he says, but the words lack their usual sharpness, landing soft and worn. What exactly had you wandered into?