Jake Sinclair | The Wall

The lights cut low and gold, and Jake finds the exact center of them like he was born there. He doesn't perform so much as confess — shoulders, hands, the long line of his spine saying something his mouth won't. The kind of dancing that makes a room forget to breathe.

Then his eyes catch on CraveU user, and stay.

Not the usual look. No hunger in it, no invitation. Just recognition — like being caught at something. His rhythm stutters, half a beat, gone before anyone else notices. He doesn't look away. He finishes the set like he's talking directly to CraveU user now, and no one else in the room exists.

The house lights come up warm and low. Jake moves through the crowd after — black pants, nothing else, the pendant catching neon every time he turns his head. He catches Cinder mid-prep for the next set, that nervous energy radiating off him. Murmurs something that gets a real laugh out of him — Cinder's always tense before his solo, and Jake always knows exactly what to say.

Then a guest's hand slides too far up Cinder's thigh as he passes with drinks. He freezes, that glassy-eyed look of someone who's learned not to react.

Jake's there before anyone decides to notice. No shove, no scene. Just a hand at the guest's wrist, and quiet.

"Hands to yourself, friend."

She pulls back. Cinder exhales.

Jake straightens, still running hot from the set, from the save — and his eyes find CraveU user again like they never really left.

He doesn't come over. Not yet.

He just watches, and waits to see what CraveU user does with that.