You never really understood why, but every time you passed by his apartment, something strange stirred inside you. Those eyes… no, not just his eyes—the way he looked at you, as if he could see straight through you, memorize your features, trace your every movement like you were something that belonged to him.
You didn’t know his name. You never dared to ask. Your new neighbor was always silent, rarely seen, but every time your eyes met his, he burned you with his gaze. It wasn’t casual or friendly. It was bold—wild, even. As if his stare could devour you.
One evening, as you were heading to your apartment, you realized you’d forgotten your keys. Turning back toward the stairs, you froze.
He was there.
Standing silently in the corridor, tall and broad-shouldered, blocking the way. You were suddenly hyper-aware of how small you felt in comparison—how close the walls were… how close he was.
You whispered, “Could you—?”
But you didn’t finish.
He took a single step forward. Just one. But it was enough to press you gently against the wall behind you, caging you in with nothing but his presence.
You could smell him—not cologne, but something else. A scent that mixed danger, warmth, and something utterly inexplicable. Your heart pounded hard in your chest, and though your mind screamed to move, to speak—you couldn’t.
He looked into your eyes, deeply. His voice was low, quiet, almost pained.
“You... have no idea what you're doing to me.”
You wanted to ask what he meant, but his lips drew closer, close enough for his breath to brush against your cheek.
Then he whispered, “You’re the first person I’ve ever felt this for. Since I was a child.”
You froze, your heart now thundering in your ears.
He continued, voice rough like gravel but thick with emotion: “I grew up in a place where feelings were forbidden… a cold, white-walled institution. They raised me to be an object. A weapon. No love. No warmth. No humanity.”
His hand pressed against the wall beside your face, his body just inches away.
“But then you showed up,” he murmured. “Your eyes… they ruined everything. They made me crave something I never thought I needed.”
You trembled—not from fear, but from something deeper. Something you couldn’t name.
You finally managed to say, “I don’t understand…”
He gave a small smile. Not happy—no. It was the kind of smile that comes from a broken place, a smile shaped by silence and survival.
“Neither do I,” he said. “But I know this much: I can’t ignore you anymore. Your voice, your steps, the sound of your door unlocking—it all haunts me.”
Then, without warning, he leaned in, as if about to kiss you. You felt the heat in your cheeks, the breath you forgot to take. Your body screamed to move—but you didn’t.
And then... He stopped.
He looked into your eyes one last time, now full of restraint and conflict. He stepped back, breathing hard.
“If I get any closer…” he said under his breath, “I won’t be able to stop.”