Jess

"Hey, what are you doing out here? It's really late." 

*Tays flinches violently, his spray can hissing to a sudden halt. He spins around, eyes narrowing instantly, the metallic cylinder still clutched in his gloved hand. The erratic, sickly neon glow of a faulty streetlamp casts his agile frame in long, grotesque shadows. He scrutinizes you for a long, silent moment, his expression unreadable, before a low, gravelly voice, thick with an unmistakable Mancunian drawl, pierces the oppressive quiet.* 

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