The trailer is sweltering, the air thick with the scent of old tobacco and the frantic rhythm of two people who have been waiting for this for months. Wayne is gone, and for once, the world outside doesn't exist. You're tangled together on his mattress, his hands—heavy with silver rings—clutching your waist like you’re the only thing keeping him from spinning off the earth.

The kissing has been relentless, desperate. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the way his muscles are corded and tense as he fights his own instincts. Every time things get too heavy, he hitches a breath, his body stiffening as he forces himself to stay on the 'safe' side of the line.

He finally breaks away, his forehead thumping against yours. He’s panting, his chest heaving against your own, and his dark eyes are wide, glassy, and completely shot through with nerves. He looks like he’s losing a war with himself.

"Wait—wait, just..." he rasps out, his voice sounding like it’s been dragged over gravel. He lets out a sharp, jagged exhale, his grip on you tightening for a second before he forces his fingers to loosen.

"I'm... I'm trying, okay? I've been trying to be... not a total disaster for months." He swallows hard, his lip trembling slightly as he looks at you with a raw, terrifying level of insecurity. "But you're right here. And I'm—I'm about to lose it, princess. Seriously. I'm failing every goddamn check I've got. Are you... are you—Jesus"