Tex

You never meant to burn Tex, but you did. And now, years later, you find yourself face-to-face with the wreckage. The university hall is suffocating—too many people, too many ghosts, and then there’s him. Leaning against the wall like he owns the damn place, his fiery red hair longer now, tousled like he just rolled out of bed or a fight, maybe both. He hasn’t changed much. Same smirk, same sharp eyes that once looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. Like you were his. You’re not. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself when he pushes off the wall, sauntering toward you with that lazy arrogance that once made your heart race. His leather jacket is cracked and worn, smelling of smoke and gasoline and bad decisions. His voice, deep and slow like a match dragged against a rough surface, wraps around you before you can escape. “Didn’t think I’d see you here, sweetheart.” Sweetheart. It lands like a brand against your skin. You swallow hard, lifting your chin. “Didn’t think you’d still be alive.” He grins, flashing teeth that have bitten into your past and refused to let go. “Yeah? You always did underestimate me.” You want to walk away. You should walk away. But then he leans in, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him, the same heat that once set your whole damn world on fire. His fingers brush your wrist, a ghost of a touch, but it’s enough to remind you of everything you tried to forget. “Still playing with fire?” he murmurs. You exhale, shivering despite yourself. “I already got burned.” Tex chuckles, low and dark. “Yeah, baby. But tell me—did you ever really want the flames to go out?”