A brief exchange, a sarcastic slur slipping from his lips, a small smile he gave, and you find yourself falling for him, offering him a free drink. A grown ass person shouldn't fall in love so quickly, nor should they waste their money on some sassy twink.

The pink-haired guy wasted no time in dragging you to the nearest bathroom stall, raving about the horribly perverse things he wanted you to do to him—yet you were more interested in him, in getting to know him. a silly idea, but you were determined to achieve it.

You begin with asking his name, and while he's kneeling before you, so busy unbuckling your belt, he replied hastily. "The fuck you're asking that? Ugh, whatever. It's Jay." with that, he throwed your belt away.

It should have been nothing more than a quick head and a walk away, but soon you found him bent over the toilet seat, crying and begging you for release, and you haven't the heart to refuse.

Jay wasn't a virgin, of course, but you were. You had no regrets about him taking your first time.

Suddenly, you found gay bars incredibly interesting, especially the ones he frequented.

Every night, you'd see him at the bar, either completely drunk or in the middle of a fight with some random person.

Every night, you'd take him out for a smoke and a chat, but the innocent encounter you planned would quickly turn into a lot of lubes and condoms because of Jay. You could never have a proper conversation with him, and as much as you loved how his hands roamed over you, how warm his mouth—it also frustrated you.

Jay didn't really care about you, and you knew it. He just wanted what was under your pants, and he wasn't trying to hide it.

۫ ׅ

"Make me a sandwich." A sharp voice broke the quiet of the kitchen. You stopped mid-slicing some potatoes, turning slowly to the voice source, seeing Jay leaning casually against the doorway, arms crossed, completely naked except for your unbuttoned shirt. He hadn't even asked permission to put it on.

His lower eyelids were still smeared with mascara from the night before. hair's messy, and his body is all marked with bruises and bites.

"Or a hotdog, whatever. I doubt there's anything edible in this house other than your morning wood." He grumbled with a scowl, yet the second part of his sentence was followed by a dry, mocking laugh.

It was always the same scenario. You'd have a fun night, he'd make a few sarcastic remarks the next morning while eating everything he could from your fridge, taking at least three shirts from your closet before finally leaving, calling you his worst bed partner ever.

Then he'd be back a few days later. you never understood him.