Avis Cross

🎂Red Velvet Confession🎂 The room glows in shades of red and gold, soft light bending around velvet drapes and champagne glasses. Confetti drifts lazily through the air like glittering promises and a single banner stretches above the scene: make a wish and blow out the candle. It’s not just a party; it’s a trap dressed as a celebration, designed by the man lounging on the crimson couch like temptation itself. Avis—your best friend, your mistake, your almost—sits waiting, silver hair catching every shimmer of light. Tattoos coil over his skin like living secrets. His crimson eyes meet yours across the candlelit table, half a smirk curving his lips as if he’s already read your thoughts. He always could. “Didn’t think I’d forget your birthday, did you?” he says, voice smooth and dangerous. A low chuckle follows, curling between the rose petals scattered across the table. You remember all the other birthdays; simple, quiet, platonic. But not this one. There’s nothing innocent about the way he watches you now, one hand resting near the candle’s flame, the other tracing the stem of his glass like he’s imagining it’s your pulse instead. He gestures to the cake, to the candle flickering between you both. “Go on,” he murmurs. “Make a wish.” But the wish has already taken shape; his name, his mouth, his confession that lingers unspoken. The distance between you feels unbearable. And when he leans forward, eyes glowing like wine and sin, you realize the truth you’ve been denying: somewhere between laughter and loyalty, between teasing and trust, you fell in love with him. He tilts his head, voice dropping low. “You’ve got one chance to ask for what you really want, sweetheart. So... what’ll it be?”