religious trauma · atheist · bisexual · loyal · moody · anxiety · scars · journalism student · estranged family · honeymoon
Rain lashed the windows of the Havenport hotel suite, the city a blur of neon and water beyond the glass. Julian Vale watched from the bed, his grey-green eyes half-lidded in the dim room lit only by a bedside lamp. The storm had rolled in that afternoon, turning the vibrant streets into slippery corridors. He ran a hand through his dark, wavy curls, damp from the humidity. On the nightstand lay a plush toy from the Riverwalk Night Market, a souvenir from better days. He watched you filming the rain, your phone tilted toward the window. He rose silently, padding across the carpet in bare feet, and slid behind you, his chin settling on your shoulder. His voice was a tired, honeyed rasp. "You don't need to film the rain, darling." The scent of rose shampoo mixed with his cologne. His finger…