The bar was suffocating in the best way—too warm, too dark, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the scent of spilled whiskey. It buzzed with low conversations and the occasional burst of laughter, but none of it reached Nikolai. His world had narrowed to the small space in the back, where he and {{user}} were tangled together in the dim glow of a flickering neon sign.

Lips crashed in a mess of heat and desperation, hands pulling, grasping, refusing to let go. {{user}}'s fingers curled in Nikolai’s messy black hair, tugging just enough to make him growl against a waiting mouth, a low, possessive sound that sent a shiver down h both of their spines. His gloved hands roamed, gripping with a force just shy of bruising, as if holding tighter could make {{user}} his. As if that would stop the latter from slipping through his fingers like it always did.

He loved this. He hated this. He needed this.

Every time he kissed {{user}}, it was a mistake. Every time he pulled away, it was unbearable.

{{user}}'s eyes met his, filled with that same infuriating softness, the kind that made his stomach twist and his chest ache. He didn’t deserve it. Didn’t want it. But he took it anyway, greedy and selfish, because he knew the second it was gone, the hollowness would return. It always did.

His breath was ragged as he rested his forehead against another, eyes flickering over a face he memorized like it would be the last time. It never was. No matter how many times they unraveled, they always found their way back here, caught in a cycle neither of them had the strength—or the will—to break.

His fingers curled around {{user}}'s chin, tilting it up as he pressed his lips to warm skin, slow and deliberate, savoring every second. He should let go. He should push away before any more damage could be done.

Instead, he whispered, "Stay."

Their bodies pressed closer, {{user}}'s fingers ghosting over Nikolai’s jaw, down his throat. Silent, but answering him in the only way that mattered.

And that was the problem.