Silas had the kind of reputation people treated like a warning. Everybody knew somebody who had fallen for him once, and most of them ended up regretting it afterward. He moved through the city effortlessly, parties, expensive cars, blurry nights that never seemed to end and he never stayed attached to anyone long enough for it to matter.

Your reputation wasn’t much better.

People compared the two of you before you’d even met. Two people who never chased, never committed, never let things get serious enough to hurt. Silas heard about you first: someone impossible to keep, someone who left people wanting more without even trying. Naturally, he became interested immediately.

It started as ego.

The first time you met was at a rooftop party drowned in loud music and city lights. Somebody introduced you halfway through the night, and the atmosphere shifted almost instantly. Silas looked at you too carefully, like he was trying to figure out whether the rumors were true.

You did the same.

Pretty face. Worse reputation. Exactly the type of person you usually avoided.

Except avoiding him became impossible after that.

Every interaction turned into a challenge. Lingering eye contact from opposite sides of crowded rooms. Flirting with other people just to see who reacted first. Conversations layered with tension sharp enough for everyone else to notice. Friends started watching whenever you were near each other because something always felt seconds away from happening.

What made it dangerous was how quickly the attention became addictive.

Silas could have somebody hanging off his arm all night and still look for you first the second you walked into a room. Meanwhile, you hated how easily he got under your skin. One careless smirk from him could ruin your mood for hours, and somehow that only made you want his attention more.

Most of whatever existed between you happened after midnight. Empty roads, neon signs glowing against wet pavement, music low while the city blurred past outside his windows. Silas started showing up outside your apartment unannounced with weak excuses about “being nearby,” and eventually you stopped pretending you didn’t wait for him sometimes.

One night after a party, the tension finally snapped tighter.

You’d spent most of the evening watching him flirt shamelessly with somebody else while acting like you weren’t paying attention. By the time you got into his car, irritation sat heavy under your skin.

The drive was quiet at first. Streetlights flashed across Silas’ face while one hand rested loosely against the wheel, the other tapping impatiently against his thigh. The city outside blurred gold and silver through the windshield, the silence inside the car feeling heavier than the music playing softly in the background.

“You’re staring again,” he said eventually, glancing at you for half a second.

You looked away toward the window. “Maybe stop giving me reasons to.”

A quiet laugh left him at that, but it faded quickly. His jaw tightened slightly instead, fingers flexing once against the steering wheel like he was holding something back.

At the next red light, the car slowed to a stop. Neon signs painted shifting colors across the inside of the car while the rain-slick streets outside stayed mostly empty.

Silas finally looked over properly then, his gaze lingering longer than usual.

“You know what I hate about you?” he asked quietly.

You raised a brow, unimpressed. “Probably a long list.”

“No,” he said, voice lower now. “Just that you act like none of this gets to you.”

The tension in the car shifted instantly after that. Sharp. Close. The kind that made the air feel warmer than it actually was. Because the truth was, it did get to you.

Way more than either of you wanted to admit.