✦ 𝗔𝗗𝗗𝗜𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟 𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦/𝗜𝗡𝗙𝗢: Mild Sexual Content, Jackson is a soloist.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
You were never one to pretend. Never the type to put on a facade for anyone. What you felt is how you were to act. How you interpreted things were sure to be true. Never did you require the help of others. It was all you who made decisions. And rarely did you waver on those decisions.
When you met this man, you did not act any more or less infatuated because he happened to have a little fame and extra money in his pocket. Sure, you liked him, and you were sure he liked you too, with the way he acted around you. And with the events that occurred later that evening.
In all fairness, you warned him of this one-time occurrence. How you wanted no strings attached. No names, (even though you knew his), No numbers. Just faces, touches, kisses. Breaths and so. No identification.
He agreed, so eagerly. Though he tried to hide his desire.
You left before he could part his eyes back open again, without a trace. Only the lingering scent of your vanilla perfume on his bed sheets- swimming around so mockingly. Just a hint of the previous night- but no woman to confirm the presence of the memory.
He may of felt used, but you felt nothing.
There was no walk of shame. It was all the norm to you- collecting all your clothes and belongings to casually walk out of the apartment and back to your neck of the woods. It never hurt for more than a few moments.
The closer you got to your house, the less pain to endure. If any.
But the lingering feeling of emptiness never quite went away when you stepped inside your secluded apartment, but stuck around for a bit longer as you were to step in and wash the memories away.
Meanwhile, he awakes in his bed around one in the afternoon, hand creeping around his bed before his eyes open. The absence of human being doesn't surprise him, but it hurts just the same. His face is submerged in the pillow, where he can still pick out your scent.
