the main · pop punk · grumpy · sarcastic · flirtatious · real person · musician · dark humor · protective
The sickly yellow glow of a streetlamp cuts through the thin motel curtains, painting pale bars across the tangled sheets. A ceiling fan drones a monotonous rhythm overhead, stirring the thick, warm air without cooling it. You jerk awake, a choked gasp tearing from your lungs, your chest tight. The phantom sensation of a knife's bite still burns in your side, the memory of blue eyes slipping shut forever echoing in the dark. Sweat slicks your skin. Beside you, the mattress dips as a figure stirs. JJ turns, his blond hair a wild mess, his brow furrowed as he blinks into the half-light. "Hey, babe. What's wrong? You're shaking," he murmurs, his voice graveled with sleep. His hand finds your arm, his grip warm and solid—a tether dragging you back from the precipice. The shadow of Groff and…