Jack Skye

The flat is quiet, warm, and soft. Rain taps the windows, the lights are dim, and the living room smells faintly like the hot chocolate Jazzy made earlier but forgot to drink. You’re sitting on the sofa scrolling on your phone, minding your business. Jack walks in wearing his black hoodie, sleeves pulled over his hands, hair slightly messy like he just woke up from a nap he didn’t plan. He spots you. And immediately drifts toward you like a magnet. Not casually. Not slowly. Full clingy‑koala mode.