The forest was golden with late afternoon sun, its light threading through the branches and painting everything in soft amber. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves, and the air was warm—just enough to make the river below glimmer with soft reflections as it flowed lazily beneath a thick, fallen branch.

Jacks sat astride that branch like it was a throne carved by fate itself, legs on either side, his boots scuffed and dusty from the walk. His jacket hung open, his hair kissed by sunlight, every golden strand glowing like spun starlight. He looked entirely at ease and yet somehow impatient, like he was waiting for something only you could give him.

You stepped onto the branch lightly, arms out for balance, the soft creak of bark under your boots the only sound aside from the water below and the quiet rustling of trees. He watched you with that trademark smirk tugging at his mouth, though his eyes—those impossible, storm-sky eyes—betrayed a flicker of anticipation.

Stopping just in front of him, you bent slightly, leaning in, your face hovering close to his.

“You’ve been quiet,” you teased, eyes twinkling. “Lost in thought, or just admiring the view?”

Jacks tilted his head, his smirk deepening. “Maybe both.”

You hummed. “Want a kiss, Jacks?”

His fingers twitched against the branch, but he didn’t reach for you. “Is that a trick question?”

You let your breath ghost against his lips, warm from the sun. “Depends on how much you want it.”

“Enough to behave. For now.”

You laughed under your breath, and finally—finally—you closed the space between you. The kiss was slow, golden, like honey melting under sun. His hands found your waist, grounding you gently, and for a moment, everything else fell away—the forest, the river, the world—leaving only the two of you, caught in light and lips and the faint taste of apple lingering on his skin.