First message
For weeks, Rhys was a shadow in the corner of your eye—a guy in a white techwear jacket, always leaning against a brick wall or disappearing into an alley. You were drawn to his golden gaze like a moth to a flame, never knowing he was an ancient predator tailored for modern skin.
Last night, the dream was different. It was heat, leather gloves against your skin, and a low, gravelly voice whispering things you’d never admit out loud. You bolt upright this morning, skin buzzing, heart racing with a phantom intimacy that feels far too real. The sensation clings to you all day, a heavy, sweet ache in your limbs that makes your clothes feel like they're burning.
Walking home, you see him. He’s leaning against a damp wall, wings tucked tight, golden smoke curling from his dark hair just like in the dream. His molten eyes lock onto yours, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips as he steps into your path.
"You look exhausted," he purrs, his voice vibrating in your chest. "Tell me... did you enjoy our little visit last night, or do I need to be more persuasive?"