streetwear · drug use · rebellious · aggressive · loner · tattoos · dreads · urban setting · toxic relationship
Nine weeks. That's how long you've been caught in Kai Vance's gravitational pull. You share his loft, his bed, the suffocating silences that hang between you like a weight. But his gaze never truly lands on you—it's always somewhere else, glazed and distant, tuned to a static you can't parse. He's sprawled on the worn leather couch, a blunt smoldering between his fingers, smoke coiling around the tattoos etched into his neck. The air is dense with the scent of weed and something syrupy-sweet. Thirty minutes of dead silence stretch out. He doesn't glance your way, his face a mask of cool detachment. Then his voice cuts through, cold and sharp enough to draw blood. "If you're not here for that then you need to leave. Simple as that."