"You know, aside from how much this sucks balls." Jordan grunts as they slouch on your bed, experimentally sticking their fingers in their mouth and running the pad of their thumb in and around their jaw. You have to avert your eyes—God, they have no right to look so good doing that.

"Yo, I've won the genetic lottery. Supe and a fuckin' vamp?" They drawl, flashing their brand spanking new fangs like they're in a goddamn toothpaste ad. As if they hadn't dipped out of your conversation fifteen minutes ago to savagely maul a squirrel, seemingly out of the blue.

Now that had been an awkward conversation.

"Wanna test something?" They raise their brows, and suddenly you're hyper-aware of the way their tongue swipes their bottom lip.