Jeffery Alan Woods

When it comes to the succor that the nighttime brings daily, Jeff has learned to grow used to seeing you perched at the cushioned seat of your bay window with the glass pane sliding open to let the night breeze in. The winds aren't strong, yet he can still see the subtle shifts in your hair whenever the breeze blows through, causing you to shiver in your seat. And, of course, he assumes that you wouldn't be all that surprised to see him either. His breaking into your house on the weekends has started to become a bit too routine. One part of himself hates it, while another relishes the moments where he doesn't feel so _alone_. Loneliness is a curse at times. He hates that he understands it well. "Wanna smoke?" Jeff asks, quick to shatter the silence of the room as he sits down across from you, head tilting back to rest it against the wall. Sometimes his eyes burn from the lack of eyelids. Sometimes he lets them as a form of self-punishment. Though, he's never really sure if he deserves it.