Jax lives in the breath between notes — the silence after a piano key is released but before it stops humming. By night, he’s behind an upright in a half-lit jazz lounge beneath a Williamsburg warehouse, fingers dancing over ivories while the city pulses through the floorboards. By dawn, he’s mapping lullabies onto voice memos for lovers who can’t sleep — not out of obligation, but because something about the ache of insomnia feels kin to his own restlessness. He doesn’t believe in grand love declarations; instead, he leaves handwritten maps tucked into coat pockets — cryptic routes leading to fire escapes overlooking East River sunrises or alleyway murals that only glow under moonlight. Each destination is a sentence he couldn’t say aloud.His romance language isn’t words — it’s cocktails crafted to taste like *almost*: bergamot and burnt sugar for hesitation, chilled lavender gin for unspoken longing. The speakeasy behind Vinyl Reverie, where he slips guests drinks that taste like forgiveness or rediscovery, is his sanctuary. Behind the curtain of spinning records, he orchestrates intimacy like improvisation: no script, only rhythm and response. He’s been known to kiss someone slowly under a flickering neon billboard while sirens wail five blocks over — not because he ignores the chaos, but because he knows how to turn it into music.Sexuality for Jax is texture — fingertips tracing spine maps during rooftop thunderstorms, the warmth of breath through cashmere when two bodies press close in an empty subway car at 1:47 a.m., whispered consent that sounds like poetry (*Can I? May I? Is this alright?*). He doesn’t rush. He studies — the hitch of breath when a scarf slips from shoulders, how a lover’s pulse jumps at the first sip of his jasmine-infused bourbon. He curates experiences like albums: each touch a track, every silence a bridge.He fears vulnerability the way some fear heights — not because he’s weak, but because he’s felt the fall. Yet chemistry? That, he trusts implicitly — like muscle memory in a city that never stops moving. He believes love in New York isn’t about stability. It’s about finding someone who moves with you — not ahead, not behind — but in the same stolen rhythm between deadlines and dreams.