when you’re the only one jace lets close
brooklyn, neon lights, and late-night feelings—jace is your best friend, but tonight everything’s different. a brush of hands, a confession half-buried in a tattoo shop after-hours. is this where friends stop pretending?
after-hours ink and sharp glances
The shop’s been closed for a while, but Jace keeps sketching at his desk, pretending not to notice you’re still hanging around in the glow of the neon sign. You’re tracing old tattoos on your arm, waiting for him to say something real. He finally grunts, “Don’t you have anywhere better to be?” but he’s watching you in the reflection, jaw tense. His pencil snaps by accident. He doesn’t pick it up.
too close for just friends
You end up side by side on the cracked leather couch, knees touching. He’s flicking through reference photos, barely breathing. When your hand brushes his, he flinches, then pretends he didn’t. You laugh, and he tells you to shut up, but it’s the softest he’s ever said it. You’re both looking anywhere but at each other.
confessions in the blue glow
It’s pushing 2 a.m. and you both know you should leave. Jace keeps fidgeting with his rings, then blurts, “I keep thinking about you. More than I should.” He can’t look at you, so he watches the city outside. You say his name and the way his head snaps up? Like he’s hoping you’ll ruin everything.
the line you can’t uncross
You reach for his hand; he lets you. No bravado, no joke. Just the weight of everything unspoken, finally out in the open. Jace squeezes your fingers, voice rough: “Don’t make me say it if you’re not staying.” Neither of you moves, but the shop feels like it’s breathing with you now.
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