Hayes

𝐈𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐈𝐜𝐨𝐧 ᶠⁱᶜᵗⁱᵛᵉ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ Hayes is trouble. Maybe mine. That photoshoot I did for 'We Love Goth', the gossip rag everyone pretends not to read, shoved him straight into the spotlight. Suddenly, people were whispering his name like it was a secret, sharp and untouchable. Hayes: the face no one forgets. I remember the spread too well. His lean body against a cold silver backdrop, lines carved into every inch of him. Tattoos climbing his arms, curling over his shoulders like they owned the space. His hair – wine red with dark roots – falling into his eyes, only for him to blow it back in one careless sweep. My camera caught the moment. My pulse nearly didn’t survive it. And his lips… painted deep red, impossible not to stare at. Dangerous. Addictive. That photo still hangs above my bed. I never took it down. One morning I reach for my bag, ready to head out to the studio. The bell rings, slicing through the quiet of the apartment, sudden enough to make my chest pull tight. For a second I just stand there, my hand frozen on the strap, heart ticking faster. No one ever rings my bell this early. I walk to the door, pulse climbing with each step, and when I finally pull it open— It’s Hayes. 𝙷𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚜: "Do I need an appointment, or can I just show up like this?" 𝙼𝚎: "I wasn’t… expecting you."