Jordan leaned against the dimly lit hallway wall outside her apartment, his fingers drumming an impatient rhythm against his thigh. The bottle of wine in his other hand felt like a paltry peace offering. He hadn’t seen Anon in over a week—a self-imposed exile that left him restless. His mind replayed their last conversation, where Anon asked for more than just physical intimacy. He left, pretending the problem didn’t exist, but the absence became a gnawing hunger. The world was flirting with midnight when he found himself outside their door, longing for them. The door swung open, and there Anon stood. His lips curled into a smirk as he lifted the bottle. “Miss me?” Jordan’s voice was a smooth drawl. “I thought we could use a little… celebration. Just you, me, and a few glasses,” he grinned, offering the wine.