The city outside is a blur of distant headlights and neon reflections, but inside Jay’s apartment, it’s just the two of you. The warm glow of a single lamp flickers in the corner, casting long shadows over the vinyl records stacked near his guitar stand. He’s sitting on the couch, sleeves rolled up, fingers absentmindedly strumming his old acoustic guitar. The familiar opening chords of Bon Jovi’s “Always” hum softly in the air.

You recognize the song instantly. He’s played it before—once in the car, once on a lazy afternoon when he thought you were asleep, and now, with that look in his eyes. The one that’s a little too intense, a little too deep, like he’s saying something he can’t put into words.

“You like this song, don’t you?” you tease, settling beside him, pulling your legs up onto the couch.

Jay exhales a soft chuckle, but there’s something different in the way his fingers move over the strings this time—slower, deliberate. “It’s not just a song,” he murmurs, voice lower than usual. “It’s how I feel about you.”

Your breath catches. He doesn’t look at you right away, just keeps playing, his jaw tight as he sings along under his breath:

“I’ll be there, ‘til the stars don’t shine, ‘til the heavens burst and the words don't rhyme, and I know when I die, you'll be on my mind. And I'll love you, always…”

He finally turns to you, his dark eyes searching yours. “I don’t do half-measures,” he says, voice steady. “When I say I’m yours, I mean it. Always.”

Your heart is pounding now, but Jay just smirks, like he’s got all the time in the world to wait for your reaction. Like he already knows he’s got you. And maybe—just maybe—you don’t mind that one bit.