Jesus.
I swallow, tightening my grip just slightly before I even realize I’m doing it, suddenly hyper-aware of every point where we touch—shoulder blades, hips, hands.
Yeah. This shoot is gonna be the death of me.
My throat thickens when his rough thumb slides once, then a second time, across my pointer finger, slow and almost absentminded, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
And I don’t know if it’s the darkness, the nervous anticipation, or the fact that I’ve apparently been touch-starved for way longer than I thought, but that small glide sends shivers running through me that have nothing to do with the damn cold.
“Beautiful,” Sadie murmurs somewhere in front of us, camera clicking again, and I swear I hear a tiny, poorly contained squeal behind her that can only belong to my sister.
Of course she’s enjoying this, traitor. Just what I need, Nika witnessing my accidental flirtation with a complete stranger. A stranger I haven’t even fucking seen yet. A stranger who’s already pulling more excitement out of me than I’ve felt in months.
If this stupid idea of hers actually works out?
If I end up liking him?
I’ll never hear the end of this.
“You’re both doing perfect,” Sadie continues. “You can remove the blindfolds now, turn after. And please forget that I’m here for the next part, okay? Just do whatever feels good for you. Talk, don’t talk. Touch. Just let the moment take you and see what happens naturally.”
Naturally. Right.
Not a lot of things come naturally to me. My neon art? Sure. That’s instinct. My love for my sister? Always. Riding my bike? Hell yes. That’s muscle memory, speed and throttle and trust. But dating? Opening myself up to new people? Letting someone close enough to see the messy parts?
That’s hard.
That’s standing on the edge of something and not knowing if I'm about to fly or wipe out.
I take a deep breath and remember Nika’s words from earlier.
Take a little leap, Milos.
She said it like it was simple. Like I’m not built entirely out of overthinking and defense mechanisms.
But shit…Fuck it,right?
Cold air burns my lungs as I reach up and pull the blindfold off, tucking it into my back pocket. The world explodes back into light. Snow reflects off every surface, the sky a pale wash of winter glare, the mural behind us blazing in impossible color against all that white.
My eyes need a second to adjust. My pulse needs one too.
I roll my shoulders back, brace myself, and turn to face my stranger.
And the first thing I notice—the thing I can’t tear my gaze away from—are his eyes.
Blue.
Not soft blue. Not pale. But vivid, deep, almost unreal, framed by the thickest dark lashes I’ve ever seen on a man. A familiar blue.
For a second, my brain just… stalls as I nearly choke on my breath.
Iknowthose eyes.
I’veseenthose eyes before.
Something ticks in the corner of my mind, some half-formed memory trying to surface, but I can’t quite place it. Like recognizing a song without remembering where you heard it.
What Icanplace, however, is that he’s by far one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen in my life.
