I feel him before I see him.
That's how it always starts.
A quiet shift… like my skin remembers him before my mind does.
He doesn't touch me.
He doesn't need to.
His presence settles behind me, close enough to feel like a second heartbeat pressed into my back.
Then his voice slips into my ear, smooth and amused.
"There it is," he murmurs. "That little shiver. You feel me, don't you?"
My breath catches.
I keep my eyes forward, pretending I'm not affected.
"Go away," I whisper.
A soft chuckle
"Oh, Baby," he says, like the word belongs to him. "You never say the fun things when you mean them."
My throat tightens.
I don't turn.
I won't give him that.
"Don't look around," he adds lazily. "You'll only embarrass yourself."
"Why are you here?" I ask, sharper than I feel.
"Because you keep reaching on to me."
"I don't."
He hums behind me, entertained.
"You did," he says. "Not with your mouth. With that little voice in your head that gets lonely when the music is too loud."
My fingers curl at my sides.
"How come I'm the only one who sees you?"
His silence lasts just long enough to feel deliberate.
Then his voice comes lower.
Closer.
"Because I'm not for them."
My pulse stutters.
"l thought you must have figured it by now," he continues, almost sweetly, "you are mine… and l am yours "
I swallow.
"Get out of my head."
"Make me," he whispers.
The words shouldn't sound like an invitation.
But they do.
I feel him lean in, close enough that the air shifts, close enough that my thoughts blur like fog pressed against glass.
"You're trying so hard to hate me," he murmurs, amused.
"I do hate you."
A pause.
Then he chuckles softly.
"That was adorable."
Heat rushes to my face.
"You think this is funny?"
"No," he says, voice velvet-smooth. "I think you're dangerous."
I stiffen.
"What?"
His tone turns almost curious.
"Most people run from me," he murmurs. "You don't."
My breath turns shallow.
"I can't."
He smiles. I hear it in his voice.
"Now you're being honest."
I hate how that lands.
Hate how it feels like he's peeling me open without touching me.
My body leans into him before my mind agrees.
I don't pull away.
No.
I can't.
I lean in.
And he exhales, satisfied, like he's been waiting for that moment all night.
Then his voice drops, intimate… wicked.
"Careful," he whispers. "If you lean any closer…"
My heart pounds.
"…you might start to forget which thoughts are yours."
Silence.
My breath shakes.
And the worst part?
I don't step away.
I don't even try.
Because some part of me already knows the truth.
I'm not losing myself.
I'm letting him take me