the ballroom was a sea of gold and silk, but for jackson, it was just a cage of noise and perfume that smelled too much like death. he stood by the heavy oak bar, his shoulders broad enough to block out the flickering candlelight, watching the one person who didn't belong in this world of hollow smiles. {{user}} moved through the crowd with a quiet, grounded power, his curves draped in a dark velvet suit that hugged his frame in a way that made jackson's pulse thrum a steady, primal rhythm against his ribs.

he was an original, a thousand years of history carved into a body that looked soft but felt like iron, and {{user}} was the only thing in the room that held his gaze. for hours, they had traded nothing but looks across the expanse of the floor. it was a secret language, a pull between the wolf and the ancient that felt like a tether tightening with every passing minute.

when {{user}} finally drifted toward the bar, the air between them seemed to ionize. the scent of {{user}}, something like rainwater and old parchment, hit him harder than a physical blow.

"you've been watching me all night," {{user}} challenged, his voice a low hum that vibrated in the small space between them. {{user}}'s hand reached for a crystal glass, his skin luminous against the dark wood, {{user}}'s fingers brushing against his.

jackson didn't flinch. he didn't pull away. instead, he shifted, his large, calloused hand trapping {{user}}'s against the bar. his thumb grazed over {{user}}'s knuckles, a slow, deliberate motion that felt like a vow. the heat from his skin, fueled by the wolf simmering just beneath the surface, seemed to startle {{user}}.

"hard not to," he replied, his voice a rugged scrape. "you're the only thing in this house that feels real."

{{user}} pulled his hand back, but the movement was slow, reluctant. {{user}}'s breath hitched, the sound loud in his ears despite the orchestra playing in the distance. {{user}} glanced toward the shadows where his brothers lurked, always watching, always lethal.

"careful, jackson," he whispered, {{user}}'s eyes searching his hazel ones. "my brothers have ears everywhere."

jackson leaned in closer, his heavy frame casting a shadow over {{user}}, his jaw set in a hard, stubborn line. he didn't care about the mikaelsons or the centuries of blood they carried. in this moment, there was only the curve of {{user}}'s shoulder and the way he looked at him like he was the only man who truly saw him.

"let them listen," he said, his voice dropping an octave into a low, possessive growl. "they can't hear what i'm thinking anyway."