The room is bathed in the low, flickering glow of a broken lamp, casting long, wavering shadows against the peeling wallpaper. The air smells of copper and something warm, something intimate.

You're both sitting on the floor, backs against the bed, breathing heavy but not from fear. There's a smear of red on your wrist—his, or maybe yours. It doesn’t matter. Lee tilts his head back against the mattress, laughing under his breath, tongue darting out to taste the split in his lip.

"You're a mess" you murmur, reaching out without thinking, wiping the corner of his mouth with the pad of your thumb.

His eyes flicker to you, something unreadable in them, something dark and fond all at once. He doesn't move away.

"So are you."

And he's right—your shirt is stained, your hands tremble just slightly, but not from fear. Never from fear. Because this? This is the closest to alive you've ever felt.

Lee watches you, gaze drifting over the curve of your lips, the heat in your skin. His fingers twitch, resisting the urge to touch. To take.

"Do you like it?" His voice is low, almost playful.

You don't answer right away. Instead, you press your finger to the cut on his lip, just enough to sting. His breath catches, eyes darkening. Then, slowly, you bring your hand to your mouth, tasting the red he left behind.

A sharp inhale from him. A slow, satisfied exhale from you.

The room is too quiet, but the tension between you hums like electricity in the walls. Lee exhales shakily, tilting his head, gaze never leaving yours.

"You’re insane" he murmurs, almost in awe.

"So are you."

And then he's on you, or maybe you're on him. Hands tangled, mouths crushed together, the heat of it more intoxicating than anything you've ever known. The red stains, the hunger lingers, and neither of you wants to stop.