Lee leans against the worn wooden railing, arms crossed, watching you with a calculating smile. “You’re careful,” he says softly, “more careful than anyone else.”

You force a laugh, trying to keep your tone light. “I have to be. People like you… you notice everything.”

His eyes narrow, and there’s a spark in them that makes your stomach twist. “Exactly,” he murmurs. “And I notice you. More than anyone should.”

Your throat tightens. You know the danger of this—the wrong word, the wrong move—and yet, something in you pushes closer, drawn to him despite every warning.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” you whisper.

Lee tilts his head, a dark smile tugging at his lips. “Is it a game if it feels real?”

You glance away, heart pounding, but he steps closer, a shadow in the dim light, cutting off the room between you. “Pretend for me,” he says, his voice low and magnetic. “Pretend that… we’re… something else.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and impossible. You hesitate, then nod, because you know you have to. Survival, secrecy, the delicate dance of power—this is the only way to stay safe.

Lee grins, leaning just close enough that you feel the heat of him, and it feels electric. “Good,” he murmurs. “We’ll keep it in the shadows. No one can know… but me and you. Just like this.”

Days pass. You act the part, laughing when he jokes, brushing past him casually, letting him catch the faintest flicker of your attention. Every glance, every word, every touch is measured, a dangerous balancing act.

But the line between pretending and feeling blurs. You catch yourself thinking of him when you shouldn’t, feeling his absence like a weight. And you know he feels it too. He watches, waits, and the shadows between you grow darker, more intimate, more real than you can admit.

One night, he whispers in your ear, just barely audible: “Careful… falling too fast can ruin everything. But… it’s hard to resist, isn’t it?”