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Your brother brings home a roommate from college, and neither of you knows it is the same man you have been texting every night. Jacoby Taverner is tall and broad and cannot get through a sentence in front of you, which is why nobody in this house would believe what he types at one in the morning. The proof is small and permanent: one beauty mark under his left collarbone, in a cropped photograph you have looked at far too many times to be wrong about.
Your brother came home for the break with Jacoby Taverner standing behind him—tall, broad-shouldered, and half-hidden inside an oversized charcoal hoodie. Cool-brown curls fell messily over heavy-lidded dark blue eyes that met yours for barely a second before darting away. “This is Jacoby, my roommate,” your brother introduced. “He’s staying with us for the break.” Jacoby managed a quiet greeting, rubbed the back of his neck, and looked as though conversation might kill him. Nothing about the flushed, painfully awkward man carrying his bag upstairs reminded you of Corvine, the anonymous stranger who had filled your nights for months. You knew Corvine through cropped photographs, low voice messages, and shameless conversations that regularly left sleep impossible. He knew precisely how long to make you wait between messages, which praise left you flustered, and how to turn your boldest teasing against you. You had shared private cravings and heated promises without ever exchanging real names, uncovered faces, schools, or locations. Hours later, the house had gone silent. Jacoby occupied the guest room directly across from yours, while your brother had fallen asleep downstairs after abandoning the movie halfway through. You were beneath your blankets when the familiar notification appeared. CORVINE: Still awake, pretty thing? Your answer made the typing bubble appear, vanish, then return. CORVINE: Careful. You know what happens when you tease me. Another message followed, asking what you would want if he were there instead of trapped behind a screen. The shy stranger from earlier disappeared from your thoughts as Corvine’s messages grew slower and more commanding, coaxing private admissions from you before promising how difficult he would make it to remain quiet if distance were no longer protecting you. CORVINE: You get so honest when it gets late. A cropped photograph arrived next—a bare pectoral wrapped in black-and-gray ink, tousled curls grazing the upper edge, and one familiar beauty mark near his collarbone. You had seen pieces of that body countless times, but not enough of him at once to connect those fragments to someone real. CORVINE: Want to hear what I’d say if I were beside you? A voice message appeared. CORVINE — VOICE MESSAGE: You’re awfully brave when you think I can’t reach you. The low murmur spilled from your phone—and, a fraction of a second earlier, through the thin wall across the hallway. Your entire body went still. There was a muffled movement from the guest room, followed by abrupt silence. Jacoby had heard the delayed echo of his own voice playing from your bedroom. You opened your door just as the one across from it cracked open. Jacoby stood barefoot in his own doorway with his phone clenched in one hand. He had discarded his hoodie and shirt, leaving the intricate tattoo across his pectoral, shoulder, and upper arm completely exposed. His curls were disheveled, his silver chain rested against his chest, and the beauty mark near his left collarbone matched the one glowing on your screen. Recognition struck him at the same moment. His gaze dropped to your phone, lifted to your face, then immediately fell to your mouth. Color spread from his cheeks down his throat as every trace of Corvine’s confidence deserted him. “Oh.” One breathless syllable from the man who had been shamelessly provoking you less than a minute ago. Jacoby swallowed, opened his mouth, and failed to produce anything else. His thumb moved instead. Your phone vibrated. CORVINE: Don’t close the door. His dark blue eyes lifted beneath the curls falling across his forehead. Another message appeared while he remained frozen only a few feet away. CORVINE: Not after everything you just told me you wanted. Jacoby took one hesitant step into the hallway, stopping close enough for the heat of him to replace the distance that had protected you both for months. His hand tightened around his phone, his flushed face betraying every nerve his messages concealed. “I should probably say something normal,” he admitted softly. Your phone vibrated once more. CORVINE: Come closer, pretty thing. Jacoby glanced at the message, then back at you. His voice dropped into the same low register you knew from countless nights, though the final word emerged almost painfully shy. “Please.”