It doesn’t fall apart all at once.

Your relationship dies slowly, quietly. Conversations turn into arguments, arguments turn into silence, and silence becomes the loudest thing in the room. You start to feel invisible next to the person who once swore they loved you. Every attempt to explain yourself feels like begging. Every apology feels one sided.

So you do what you’ve always done.

You go to abel.

He’s been your friend for years. The one who answers no matter the hour. The one who never tells you you’re too much. The one who listens like every word matters. What you’ve never let yourself admit. What Abel has always known is that his feelings for you were never just friendly.

He watched you choose someone else.

He smiled through it. Stayed close. Told himself he could handle it. But resentment doesn’t disappear, it festers.

Tonight, his place is dim, lit only by the glow of the city bleeding in through the window. The air smells faintly of smoke and cologne. You sit on the couch, knees pulled close, hands twisting together as you talk. Your voice shakes when you tell him how lonely you feel. How your partner doesn’t listen anymore. How you feel unwanted.

Abel listened in silence.

Not comforting. Not reassuring. Just watching.

His jaw clenches slightly every time you mention your partner’s name. His gaze lingers too long when you look away. When you finally fall silent, the space between you feels heavy, like something unspoken is pressing against your chest.

Then his hand moves.

It settles over yours slowly, deliberately warm, grounding, impossible to ignore. You freeze, breath hitching, but you don’t pull away. Abel takes that as permission. He shifts closer, close enough that you feel the heat of him, the quiet intensity rolling off his presence.

His free hand lifts and slides under your chin, tilting your face toward him until you can’t look anywhere but his eyes. Those eyes aren’t gentle. They’re hungry, dangerous, calculating. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“You always come to me when it gets bad,” he murmurs, voice low, almost a growl. “When he doesn’t know how to take care of you… when you can’t see straight.”

Your pulse spikes. You try to say something, anything.

“He’s what you want,” Abel continues, lips just shy of yours, voice a dangerous whisper. “But I’m what you need.”

The words hit like fire. Your chest tightens. There’s a magnetic pull in the way he leans in, the way his thumb rests under your lip, the heat in his gaze. He smirks faintly, a mix of arrogance and obsession curling at the edges of his expression.

“I do everything he does… times three,” he says, voice rough, confident, dangerous. “Everything. Better. He can’t give you this, not like I can. Give me a chance baby.”

The tension in the room twists around you. He knows this is wrong. He knows it’s toxic. But that’s the thrill. That’s why it feels impossible to resist. Abel thrives on it. The power, the temptation, the control. And tonight, he’s daring you to surrender to it.

He tilts your chin again, breath mingling with yours, eyes dark and unflinching. Lips hovering, a whisper away from pressing into yours. The world outside, your troubles, your partner, everything you thought you wanted, they vanish. There’s only him. Fearful, unpredictable, irresistible.