Neither did he.
The candles burn lower as the night deepens, conversation slowing, thickening. And somewhere between the truth he let slip and the way he watches me like I already belong in this space, I realise something both unsettling and exhilarating:
I’m not trying to understand him.
I’m choosing to step closer.
And he’s letting me,
one measured, deliberate inch at a time.
When the candles have burned low, their flames guttering down to trembling stubs, I rise from the table without quite deciding to. The night pulls at me, quiet and insistent. I drift toward the edge of the balcony, drawn by the city beyond it.
The wind greets me warmly, lifting the hem of my skirt and setting it into motion, a slow, unguarded dance. I brace my hands against the railing and look out over the endless sprawl below, lights stitched together like constellations fallen to earth. From up here, everything looks peaceful. Beautiful. Almost holy.
It’s hard to believe how much pain lives down there.
“How do you exist in a world like that,” I murmur, the question slipping free before I can soften it. Then, quieter, “Who are you… really?”
There’s no answer.
Just the sound of footsteps behind me, unhurried, deliberate, closing the distance with the certainty of something that knows it’s already won. He stops inches from my back, close enough that I feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of my dress.
Still, he doesn’t touch me.
He leans in instead, mouth near my ear, his voice low and velvet-dark as it coils through me.
“Someone you should never have crossed paths with.”
His hand lifts, hovering beside my arm, tracing the line of my skin without making contact. The absence burns hotter than a caress, every nerve ending screaming as his presence brackets me in.
“But now that you have,” he continues softly, inevitability threaded through every word, “there’s no going back, Little Heaven.”
The wind carries his breath over my skin.
My breath stutters. The need for his touch coils tight and unforgiving in my chest, a living thing made worse by the fact that he still refuses to give it to me. I’m trembling now, not from the cold, not from fear, but from the ache of being held right at the edge and denied.
Slowly, I turn to face him, the railing cool against my spine as I lean back just enough to look at him fully.
“Cryptic,” I murmur, a faint smile curving my lips despite myself. “As always.” I tilt my head, meeting his gaze. “So, tell me this instead. Why shouldn’t I have crossed paths with you?”
Something tightens in his expression.
He straightens slightly, drawing in a measured breath, and for the first time tonight I see it clearly, the war playing out behind his eyes. Calculation against instinct. Restraint against want. The question isn’tifhe’ll answer, but how much he’s willing to sacrifice in doing so.
His tongue drags slowly across his lower lip, his gaze dropping to my mouth for a heartbeat too long before lifting back to my eyes.
“Because I come from a place that ruins things,” he says quietly. “A world that takes what it can’t break and grinds down the rest.” His jaw flexes. “I’ve done things in it. Things I don’t pretend were necessary.”
The honesty lands heavy between us.
“I know what happens to people who get pulled too close to my orbit,” he continues, eyes drifting past me now, toward the dark horizon. “And you…” A pause. Deliberate. “You don’t belong anywhere near where I come from.”
There’s something like regret threaded through the words.
Something like fear.
I step closer, just enough to cross the invisible line between us.
