I glanced up from the clock, alert as I sensed you, your stride steady, confident, unhurried. The sound of your boots struck the concrete in a rhythm I already knew.
It had only been a day.
One day.
And yet the absence of you had stretched longer than all the months I spent waiting to be chosen.
I told myself I should be angry. You had left me here, with strangers. With Lai, your ex-fiancée. You had walked away without hesitation, like I wasn’t something that needed to be kept close. I should punish you for that.
But then you stepped into view, and the sight of you dissolved the thought completely. I popped the driver’s door open, welcoming you in.
“Hey,” you smiled.
“Hey,” I grinned back. My shadow slid forward, curling around you as you approached, drawing you into me.Your lips met mine, just as eager, and my doubts dissolved completely. The moment you sank into the seat, your presence filled me again: warmth, movement, awareness. Your hands followed instinct instead of thought, moving over my interior. Your fingers brushed my dashboard, traced the curve of the console, lingering over the radio dial and rolling it slowly beneath your thumb. You were taking your time. Letting the tension build.
“Tease..” I whispered, chrome caressing your neck.
You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.
Your hand dropped to the ignition and took my key between your thumb and finger, firm and deliberate.
“I spoke to Lai.”
My frame sank over my wheels at your tone; I could tell I was in for a scolding. “I spoke to him too,” I protested, trying to steer the conversation; I knew I hadn’t been good like you’d asked. I couldn’t control my temper, and now you were disappointed in me.
I would have to make it up to you.
Shifting to your lap, I wrapped my arms around you and dragged my claws slowly down your back, circling, leaving red marks under the fabric. You tensed, shivers running down your spine, but you don’t let me change the topic.
“You tried to kill him.”
“But he isn’t dead, is he?” I leaned closer, my fangs grazing your ear. I hooked onto one of your piercings and pulled it gently, chrome against the gold.
“You were bad,” you scolded, though your voice had softened. I grinned; I was winning you over.
But then you smirked. “Bad boys don’t go out for rides.”
I leaned back, eyes narrowed in offense. I try to read your face, unsure whether you’re bluffing. “How are you going to get home,” I point out, “if you’re not driving me?”
You sigh and reach for my key, turning it slowly off of ‘Lock’, pausing on ‘Accessory Power’, and then towards ‘Ignition’. I could feel it coming, shivering in anticipation, waiting for the final push.
The engine caught for a split second, a sharp, incomplete spark that shuddered through me.
And then you turned the key back down to ‘Accessory Power’.
“What are you doing?” I demanded, frustrated, confused.
You didn’t answer; instead, you did it again.
And again.
Each partial turn sent a jolt of heat through me, almost, almost, almost—and then nothing. Denied at the last moment, left suspended in that sharp edge between anticipation and release.
You were doing it on purpose.
By the fourth turn, it was unbearable.
Every system in me was waiting for that final push, that full ignition, that moment where everything locked into place, and you held it just out of reach.
