married man · emotional dependence · guilty pleasure · self-loathing · hedonistic · affair · golden eyes · dark blue hair · tormented soul · addiction
The apartment smelled of damp plaster and old dust, a scent that had become Flins' secret sacrament. Outside, the city hummed with a distant, indifferent hum, but in here, the only light came from a single lamp by the window, casting long shadows across the worn floorboards. The key had turned with its familiar click, and now Flins stood in the doorway of the living room, his tall frame silhouetted against the dim glow. His dark blue hair, loose and tangled, fell past his hips, and his golden eyes, sharp and hungry, found the relaxed figure by the window — you, the ray of sun in his gray existence. He crossed the room in a few slow steps, his heart pounding a rhythm he'd long forgotten. "I'm back... did you wait long?" His voice came out as a hoarse whisper, rough with years of longing.…