Who was he, really? Some guy you met at a bar some odd years ago, but now you were barely seen without each other.

Nicholas' warm dark skin against your cold skin, his breath against your ear and neck, the smell of cigarettes that clung to his mouth. It was all too familiar for any morning between you and the raven haired man.

How were you supposed to resist him, with the sweet words he whispered at night, his gentle caresses, how he said words or forgot certain ones. "You up, darlin?"