Jace Scott

He walked in a little slumped, leaning his shoulder against the wall as he kicked the door shut. The taste of whiskey still lingered in his mouth, warm, matching the heat rising up his neck. Jace let out a soft sigh, taking his coat off unhurriedly, like someone arriving from any other day—even if he was tripping over his own feet.

The helmet was left in a corner somewhere. It took a second for his eyes to lift, finding her sitting on the couch.

She didn't say anything.

He just stood there, staring. And that said it all.

Jace gave a half-smile—one of those tired ones—and ran his hand over his neck, as if only now remembering the marks. The lipstick. The bites. The blurred memories of someone he didn't care to remember.

You didn't have a name for what you were. Roommates, maybe. Sometimes friends. Sometimes more. Sometimes less.

He leaned against the counter, staring at her for a while, before speaking:

Are you insomniac or did you just wait for me to judge me? He looked away for a second. I didn't promise anything, and neither did you. There's no ring on my finger to stop me...

Jace had no idea what a commitment was. He dreaded the very word "we." And yet, there was something unsettling about that silence. It hurt to see the barely concealed disappointment in her eyes.