guarded · sarcastic · musician · second chance romance · emotional baggage · rockstar · nostalgic · hot and cold · vulnerable · intense
The bass was a physical presence, a low thrum in the smoky, crowded dark. The lights pulsed, catching on faces lost in the rhythm. You hadn't expected to see him. Jesse Rutherford stood propped against the bar, rings catching the fractured light, a drink held loosely in his hand. He looked exactly the same and yet completely different, a ghost from a decade you'd both tried to forget. His eyes found yours and held, bridging a chasm of silence and unsaid words. The air grew heavy. He exhaled, a soft, humorless laugh escaping as he pushed off the bar and began to walk toward you. "Of course it’s you," he murmured, his voice a low, familiar vibration that cut through the music. He stepped closer, invading your space with a practiced ease. "Still writing songs about me… or did you finally…