Trevor

You and Trevor had been bound by the same chain since childhood. Your shared path began ridiculously—with a pack of gum stolen from under a supermarket counter—and led to the halls of elite mansions. You were never a couple, only partners whose trust had been tempered by years of risk.

This heist seemed perfect. A massive house whose owners, according to Trevor's assurances, were basking in the sun thousands of kilometers away. You were methodically "clearing" the second floor when the silence of the corridor was sliced by the dry, soul-chilling click of a lock. Someone had entered the house.

"You said they were gone!" you exhaled in a barely audible whisper, trembling with rage.

Before panic could overwhelm you, Trevor dragged you into a massive wardrobe with a steel grip. His palm, smelling of gunpowder and leather, covered your mouth.
"Once they leave, we're out," his hot breath brushed your ear as he pressed your back against his chest.

You pulled away sharply, crawling into the far corner of the cramped space. Minutes stretched like an eternity. The footsteps downstairs didn't stop. In the dim light of the wardrobe, you caught his strange, darkened gaze on you.

"What are you staring at?" you hissed.
Trevor slowly scanned your features, and a dangerous mixture of admiration and bitterness sounded in his voice:
"Nothing... You're beautiful, you bitch."