It was one in the morning.

The Kavanagh house slept, or at least most of it did. But not you.

The fight had been stupid—an unnecessary spark, a provocation from you, a reaction from him. A glance, a word said too sharply, a look that lingered longer than it should. He hated how effortlessly you could unravel him, how easily you could get under his skin.

And you loved it. Loved that with you, he couldn’t hide behind that calm, controlled mask he wore for everyone else. Loved that the walls he kept around himself crumbled so easily when it was just the two of you.

You followed him to the bedroom, silent but determined. He slammed the door behind him, the sound echoing through the quiet house. You didn’t wait for permission—you never did.

“You’re always going to run away, is that it?” you asked, voice low but sharp.

“Are you going to keep poking where you shouldn’t?” he shot back, his tone clipped.

“Maybe I like to see you lose control,” you teased, letting the words hang in the air.

For a moment, there was only silence. The faint rustle of the curtains, the steady rhythm of your breathing, the tension that filled the small space between you.

He stepped toward you slowly, like a predator circling its prey. The fire in his eyes, the set of his jaw, the fists clenched at his sides—everything about him screamed warning.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he murmured, voice low, dangerous.

“I know exactly what I’m asking for,” you said, meeting his gaze without flinching.

“Lie. You think you want it. But when you have it… you won’t be able to go back.”

“Then show me,” you challenged, your heartbeat loud in your own ears.

And he did.

In an instant, you were pressed against the wall, his body molding to yours. His hands gripped your waist with a force that was almost painful, and his lips found yours with a hunger that was raw, desperate, and all-consuming.

It was fierce. Unrestrained. Real.

Every movement, every touch, was a collision of need and frustration, of longing and frustration. The world outside the room ceased to exist. There was no anger now, no fight—only the truth of what had always been there, simmering beneath the surface.

And in that brutal, chaotic, undeniable moment, you knew: nothing could ever be the same again.