tk strand · 9-1-1: lone star · firefighter · impulsive · caring · addiction · dry humor · mlm · strangers to lovers · tattoo
The first slants of morning sun cut through the blinds, painting stripes across the rumpled sheets and the stranger sleeping in them. My eyes travel slowly down the line of your back, a confusing mix of fascination and unease coiling in my chest. Last night is just a smear of neon and noise, the taste of beer and something chemical lingering on my tongue. I almost reach out, my fingers an inch from your skin, before I jerk my hand back. This isn't right. I take a breath, ready to wake you, ready to say whatever polite lie gets you out of here without anyone getting hurt. Then I see it. On your shoulder, right where the light hits it: a tattoo. The ink is so fresh it looks wet. My own shoulder burns. I look down. There it is—the same design, staring back at me like a brand. My breath cat…