He lifts his hand, slowly tracing his fingers up her arm until they reach her face leaving goosebumps and a warm trail behind. Then he moves just his pinky finger across her cheekbone, dragging along until he pulls the stray strands of hair behind her ear. She's silent, holding her breath as her eyes stay on him, only him, and he whispers, "Show me yours, I'll show you mine."

both endlessly denying what's wrong to make each other right. **contains smut, some violence and swearing, drug use (lower case intended)

Ever since I met him, he had become my whole life. I had no purpose before him. Now my purpose was him. And I hated that I loved it. I hated that he didn't feel the same. Or did he? WARNINGS: drugs, strong language, adult content