I watched him walk to the window, the light fading away outside catching his long torso from behind. He stretched, and I silently swooned. There were no cuts or lines, just beautiful soft flesh. The softness of which eluded my memory when we were apart, but was immediately familiar as soon as I touched him. He fumbled around the dresser, the room getting darker, but we were both too lazy to turn on a light. There was a slight flick, a light, and then the oddly comforting smell of smoke. He turned to look at me. He seemed to glow in the dark. No, he did glow like a muted white flame. 

He made his way back to the bed. As he lay down, I gently bounced along with the mattress. I wrapped myself around him and gazed up into his eyes. I could never remember what color they were. Brown, right? I never spent much time looking into them. What I do remember were the hard laugh lines carved into the outer corners of his eyes. Those lines belonged to a man that knew pleasure. He was charismatic, charming, and fast talking. It’s why I ended up in his bed over and over again.

He caught me staring. “What?” His voice sounded happily exhausted. I shook my head and moved my gaze to my finger tracing the bottom edge of his neck tattoo down to his chest. The longer I knew him, the more his body filled up with ink. 

He was thinner than when we first met- body and hair. Still fucking cute as hell. He was also still smoking. Cigarettes to vapes, back to cigarettes. He always tasted like cigarettes, but I didn’t mind. They were his addiction, and he was mine. Both deadly. 

He smiled at me with that smile I loved. He didn’t just smile with his lips, but with his eyes, too. They seemed to dance when he smiled. It was unnerving. He was mischievously cute. An obvious bad boy. The kind of guy every girl could easily have a crush on. I thought of him like decadent candy. I always ate too much and then hated myself later. I hated myself for falling for him, and yet enjoyed every bite of rotting sweetness he left in my mouth. 

I loved the way we fit. We talked about the day, work, and family. Catch up like old friends and then fuck like newlyweds. It was a predictable routine, but it was never fake. We’d go through the motions, but never emotionless. Somehow he was the longest relationship I’d ever had, and we weren’t even together.

Just a junkie with her drug, and a heartbreaker with his savior.