Yesterday, 02:19 AM
Jay felt the shift as Nox dropped to his knees.
The cold bled straight through his coat now, the railing biting like a warning. The metal beneath Nox’s hands, the way he looked up... ready, open, offering. It should have snapped Jay out of it. Should have sent some pang of guilt or shame or anything.
But all Jay felt was heat.
Not lust, not really. Not love. Just… burn.
Burn behind his ribs.
Burn in his hand.
Burn in the places where silence had taken root and refused to be moved.
His fingers twitched at his sides, the urge to let it happen churning in the pit of his stomach like fire.
But then. Footsteps. A voice. Laughter, distantly slurred, approaching from down the path. Locals, probably. Some of the Carnival’s stragglers perhaps, half-high, fully oblivious. Jay’s body reacted before his brain could.
He pulled Nox up in a sharp, silent motion and murmured, voice low and threaded with breath:
“Warmer.”
No explanation. No apology.
He turned and started walking, returning into the neon fog of the Red Light District, the noise swelling again like a wave crashing around them and sweeping them asunder.
The lights blurred at the edges. The signs pulsed in too-perfect colors. VR dens, synth-shops, dispensaries glowing with digital flames. This part of the city always felt like it had a heartbeat: hot and wrong and thudding under the skin.
He didn’t look back to see if Nox followed. He just moved.
His hand hurt again. Worse than before. The throbbing now had an edge. A pulse that cut sharper than the clench in his jaw. He flexed it once, twice. Fuck. Either the drug had worn off, or it was doing exactly what it was made to: make you crave another strip.
His eyes flicked down a nearby alley, where a blue-lit kiosk blinked slowly like it recognized him. He could grab another packet. Slide it under his tongue. Just float again. Not think. Not feel.
But he didn’t stop. Not yet.
Because Nox was behind him. And his body still hummed with adrenaline, and something that tasted like fury wearing desire’s clothes.
Jay told himself it wasn’t cheating. What was happening wasn’t Natalie’s. She was light, safety, home.
This was something else. This wasn’t emotion. This was reflex.
This was pressure and release.
A different part of him entirely.
Men, women. It didn’t matter. That was never what any of this was about.
It was about fire in his blood and silence in his skull. It was about not being alone in the one place he was always trying to survive.
He turned a corner, down another corridor of flickering red signage and steam curling from street vents. The city pulsed around him like something half-dead but still breathing.
This was where he belonged tonight.
Here.
With the ache in his hand.
And the ledge always waiting just a step away.
The cold bled straight through his coat now, the railing biting like a warning. The metal beneath Nox’s hands, the way he looked up... ready, open, offering. It should have snapped Jay out of it. Should have sent some pang of guilt or shame or anything.
But all Jay felt was heat.
Not lust, not really. Not love. Just… burn.
Burn behind his ribs.
Burn in his hand.
Burn in the places where silence had taken root and refused to be moved.
His fingers twitched at his sides, the urge to let it happen churning in the pit of his stomach like fire.
But then. Footsteps. A voice. Laughter, distantly slurred, approaching from down the path. Locals, probably. Some of the Carnival’s stragglers perhaps, half-high, fully oblivious. Jay’s body reacted before his brain could.
He pulled Nox up in a sharp, silent motion and murmured, voice low and threaded with breath:
“Warmer.”
No explanation. No apology.
He turned and started walking, returning into the neon fog of the Red Light District, the noise swelling again like a wave crashing around them and sweeping them asunder.
The lights blurred at the edges. The signs pulsed in too-perfect colors. VR dens, synth-shops, dispensaries glowing with digital flames. This part of the city always felt like it had a heartbeat: hot and wrong and thudding under the skin.
He didn’t look back to see if Nox followed. He just moved.
His hand hurt again. Worse than before. The throbbing now had an edge. A pulse that cut sharper than the clench in his jaw. He flexed it once, twice. Fuck. Either the drug had worn off, or it was doing exactly what it was made to: make you crave another strip.
His eyes flicked down a nearby alley, where a blue-lit kiosk blinked slowly like it recognized him. He could grab another packet. Slide it under his tongue. Just float again. Not think. Not feel.
But he didn’t stop. Not yet.
Because Nox was behind him. And his body still hummed with adrenaline, and something that tasted like fury wearing desire’s clothes.
Jay told himself it wasn’t cheating. What was happening wasn’t Natalie’s. She was light, safety, home.
This was something else. This wasn’t emotion. This was reflex.
This was pressure and release.
A different part of him entirely.
Men, women. It didn’t matter. That was never what any of this was about.
It was about fire in his blood and silence in his skull. It was about not being alone in the one place he was always trying to survive.
He turned a corner, down another corridor of flickering red signage and steam curling from street vents. The city pulsed around him like something half-dead but still breathing.
This was where he belonged tonight.
Here.
With the ache in his hand.
And the ledge always waiting just a step away.
Only darkness shows you the light.