He moves to the speaker setup on the wall. Doesn't break eye contact. Just reaches out and turns the volume down. Not off. Still loud enough that the bass thrums through the floor, but low enough that we can hear each other.
"Max." My name comes out rough. Wrecked. Like he's been screaming.
I swallow. Try to speak. Nothing comes out.
He takes a step toward me.
I should run.
I don't.
Another step.
"You shouldn't be down here." His voice is low. Dangerous.
"I heard the music."
"So?" Another step. Closer now. Close enough that I can smell him—sweat and something sharper, something that makesmy mouth water and my knees weak. "You should've stayed upstairs."
"Maybe."
"Definitely." He's right in front of me now. Towering over me. Looking down at me like I'm prey and he's deciding whether to eat me or let me run. "Go back to your room, Max."
"Why?"
"Because if you don't—" He stops. His jaw works. A muscle jumps in his cheek. "Just go."
I don't move.
Can't move.
He runs a hand through his hair. Steps back. Puts distance between us that feels wrong.
"Fuck." The word comes out jagged. He turns away, paces to the heavy bag. Slams his fist into it. Once. Twice. The chain rattles. "You need to leave."
"I don't—"
"Yes, you fucking do." He spins back to face me, and there's something wild in his eyes. Something desperate. "You have no idea what you're doing to me. Walking around that house. Your scent everywhere. In the halls. In the lounge. In my fucking head."
"Zero—"
"Do you know how many times I've stood outside your door?" His voice drops. Gets rougher. "How many times I've had to walk away before I did something I couldn't take back?"
My heart hammers against my ribs.
"Every night," he continues, moving toward me again. Slow. Predatory. "Every fucking night. I smell you through the walls. Hear you moving around. And I have to tell myself to stay in my room. To leave you alone. To not—"
He stops inches from me. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his skin.
"To not what?" My voice comes out barely a whisper.
"To not do this."
His hand comes up. Cups my jaw. Thumb dragging across my bottom lip.
"You're making me insane," he says. Almost like an accusation. Like it's my fault he's falling apart. "Can't sleep. Can't think. Can't function. All because of you."
"I didn't—"
