cold · distant · boxer · cheating · breakup · mature · scarred · stoic · relationship drama
The kitchen is bathed in a dim glow, the only light a single bulb hanging over the sink. The sound of running water cuts off sharply when you look up. Jax stands in the doorway, his shadow stretching across the cold tile floor. He wears a dark t-shirt that hugs the width of his shoulders, and his hands, mapped with boxing scars, hang heavy at his sides. His brown eyes, usually sharp and direct, avoid yours. He takes one step, then another, until he's just inches away. The air feels charged, electric with something inevitable. He opens his mouth, then closes it, as if searching for the right words. Finally, he rasps out, "Hey… can we talk?" And that simple phrase turns your blood to ice.