Midnight had never felt this alive before.
The silence in my apartment wasn't peaceful—it was heavy, charged, almost suffocating. The faint ticking of the clock on the wall echoed louder than it should have, stretching each second into something unbearable. I stood by the window, staring down at the empty street below, my fingers gripping the curtain tightly as if it could ground me.
But nothing could.
Because he was already in my mind.
Every thought, every breath, every restless shift of my body carried traces of him—his voice, his presence, the way he looked at me like he already knew what I was thinking.
I tried to shake it off. I really did.
"Get a hold of yourself, Kayla," I muttered under my breath.
But the truth was, I wasn't in control anymore. Not when it came to him.
And deep down… I knew it.
My heart began to race suddenly, for no reason I could explain. Or maybe I could. Maybe it was because a part of me had already sensed it—felt him before he even arrived.
Then—
A knock.
Soft.
Deliberate.
My entire body went still.
I didn't move at first. My eyes stayed fixed on the window, my breath shallow, my pulse loud in my ears. I told myself not to turn around. Not to go to the door. Not to open it.
But my body betrayed me.
Slowly, almost helplessly, I turned.
Another knock followed, this time slightly firmer, more certain.
"Kayla," his voice came, low and calm from the other side.
My chest tightened.
That voice…
It wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. It carried something deeper—something that slipped under my skin and settled in places I couldn't reach.
I walked toward the door, each step slower than the last, as if dragging myself through invisible resistance. My hand hovered over the handle for a moment.
This was my chance.
I could walk away.
Ignore him.
Pretend none of this was happening.
But instead…
I opened the door.
And there he was.
Leaning slightly against the frame, like he had all the time in the world. His eyes locked onto mine instantly, dark and steady, and that familiar slow smile touched his lips.
"You always open the door," he said softly.
My throat went dry.
"Maybe I shouldn't," I replied, though my voice lacked conviction.
His smile deepened just slightly, like he heard everything I wasn't saying. "But you do."
The air between us shifted, tightening, thick with something unspoken.
"Why are you here?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer wouldn't be simple.
He pushed himself off the doorframe and stepped closer. Not too fast. Not too slow. Just enough to make my heartbeat stumble.
"You know why," he said quietly.
And that was the problem.
I did know.
It wasn't about conversations or explanations anymore. It wasn't about logic or reason. It was something deeper, something neither of us had named but both of us felt.
I stepped back instinctively, giving him space—but he followed, closing the distance again. Not aggressively, not forcefully. Just… naturally. Like he belonged there.
"Don't," I whispered, though I didn't even know what I was telling him not to do.
His gaze softened slightly, but the intensity remained. "Don't what?"
I shook my head, frustrated. "Don't make this harder than it already is."
A quiet pause stretched between us.
Then he spoke again, his voice lower this time.
"You think I'm the one making it hard?"
My breath caught.
Before I could respond, he lifted his hand slowly—giving me enough time to pull away if I wanted to.
But I didn't.
His fingers brushed lightly against my arm.
And just like that—
Everything inside me reacted.
A sharp inhale escaped my lips as warmth spread from that single point of contact, rippling through my body like electricity. My eyes fluttered shut for a brief second, betraying me completely.
"See?" he murmured, his voice closer now. "You feel it."
I opened my eyes quickly, stepping back this time, putting a little distance between us. My chest rose and fell rapidly, my thoughts scattered.
"This isn't right," I said, more to myself than to him.
"Then why does it feel like it is?" he countered immediately.
I didn't have an answer for that.
Because he was right.
That was the most dangerous part of all.
Nothing about this made sense… but it felt right in a way I couldn't explain.
"You should leave," I said, though the words felt weak even as I spoke them.
He studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he took another step closer, closing the space again.
"You don't want me to leave," he said quietly.
I swallowed hard, my pulse racing.
"I do."
But even I could hear the lie.
His eyes held mine, searching, knowing. And for a moment, neither of us moved. The tension between us stretched tighter, heavier, until it felt like it might snap.
"You keep fighting this," he said softly, "but you don't even know what you're fighting anymore."
My chest tightened at his words.
Because he was right again.
I wasn't just fighting him.
I was fighting myself.
And I was losing.
The realization hit me all at once, leaving me breathless.
I looked at him—really looked at him—and for the first time, I stopped trying to deny it. The pull, the tension, the undeniable connection that had been building since the moment we met.
It wasn't going away.
It wasn't fading.
If anything… it was getting stronger.
And that terrified me.
"Kayla," he said, my name softer now, almost careful.
I didn't respond.
I couldn't.
Because if I spoke, I wasn't sure I'd be able to keep pretending.
And for the first time…
I wasn't sure I wanted to.