You found him on the cliff where the stars looked closer than the sky. The sea roared below, wild and wind-tossed, but Jacks stood still, as if carved from grief and moonlight.

“You left,” you said, your voice barely louder than the wind. “You left me without a word.”

He didn’t turn. “Because I had to.”

“You never had to.”

At that, he looked back—eyes stormy, mouth cruel in that way he used to hide how soft he really was. “If I’d stayed, you would’ve died. The curse, the fate—it was written. You’d kiss me, and you’d die. That’s how this story ends.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should.”

You took a step forward. “You think I care more about a curse than about you? Jacks, I would rather die kissing you than live never knowing what it feels like.”

His breath hitched. “Don’t say that.”

“I mean it.” You reached him, pressed a hand to his chest where his heart beat—slow and reluctant, like it didn’t believe in itself anymore. “One kiss. Even if it ends me, I want it.”

He shook his head. “You don’t understand what you're saying.”

“Then make me understand.”

And before he could say no, before fate could tighten its noose around your neck, you pulled him down and kissed him.

It wasn’t soft.

It was fire and salt and shattered stars. His mouth opened with a gasp, his hands rising to your waist as if he couldn’t stop himself. Tongue slid against tongue, slow and deep, like the world might end and he needed to memorize the shape of your soul. He kissed you like he hated himself for it. Like he loved you too much not to.

When you finally pulled away, your chest was heaving. Your lips tingled, wet and swollen. You stumbled back a step, dazed.

His hands caught your arms instantly. “No. No—don’t—are you—?”

He was already panicking, eyes wide, breathing shallow. “Gods, you’re dying—I told you—”

“I’m not,” you whispered.

“You just fell back—”

“I forgot how to breathe.”

He froze.