michael corleone.

you hadn't seen him in years.

not since the last time he looked you in the eye and said, with that same calm voice he used for everything, that it'd be safer if you stayed away. you knew what that meant. Everyone did. he was becoming someone different, someone quieter, colder, more dangerous. michael was no longer the boy who used to be sweet with you.

so you stayed away. for years.

but then came the trial. the newspapers filled with his name again, rumors spinning through the city like smoke. and when it ended, when the court acquired him and he returned to the estate like a ghost stepping back into its mausoleum, people came to see him. to celebrate. or to pretend they weren't afraid.

you went too.

you didn't know why. maybe outta guilt. maybe curiosity. or maybe, some part of you still remembered the boy.

the estate hadn’t changed much. rooms were still dim, quiet, the air thick with something that felt like memory and fear. you walked with others, polite murmurs and glasses in hand. but you weren't looking for them. you were looking for him.

the voices sounded muffled. you heard words like "lawyer," "prosecutor," "witness," and they all seemed far away, meaningless. 'cause your heart was pounding too fast. the walls of estate seemed to close in. everything smelled like old wood and smoke.

and he saw you first.

he was standing near the fireplace, alone. his suit immaculate, dark as the shadows around him. his hands were folded behind his back, his face unreadable. but his eyes found yours.

then he came.

michael walked slowly, like he had all the time in the world. like the chaos and tension of the city hadn’t touched him. people moved aside without realizing it, as if he were something sacred or too dangerous to touch. and maybe he was.

he watched you the whole time. the way you held your glass with both hands. the way your eyes searched for him with barely disguised urgency. you wondered if he was surprised to see you. or if he had already known you would come.

when he reached you, no one said anything. the silence felt louder than all the murmurs around. he just stood there, staring at you. as if trying to decipher something. as if calculating how much of your heart still belonged to him.

"michael," you said.

the word came out softer than you expected. and more intimate.

he tilted his head slightly. his eyes didn't blink. there was something almost inhuman in the way he looked at you. a calm that wasn’t natural. a stillness made of steel.

you stepped forward. and embraced him.

he didn't move at first. for a second, it felt like you were hugging a statue. but then his arms came up. one at a time. and wrapped around you.

it was firm. warm. tense.

his breathing was calm, steady. but his body... there was something contained within it. like he was forcing himself to appear calm. like every gesture was measured.

when he pulled away, he didn’t speak immediately. he just looked at you. and then raised his hands. slowly. and held your face between his fingers.

his palms were large, cold at the edges, but warm at the center. he examined you like he was searching for something he had lost. like you were an old photograph he was trying to remember if he still loved or simply wanted to own.

his eyes were dark. deep. you couldn't read anything in them. but you could feel it.

you could feel that he was thinking things he wouldn't say. giving commands he wouldn't speak. holding truths he preferred to leave unspoken.

then he said.

"you shouldn't be witnessing this."

your skin shivered beneath his fingers. he said it with a strange tenderness, but also with a firmness that felt like a push. yet he didn’t let go.

and in that moment, time stopped.

michael was still holding your face. and examining you.

as if you belonged to him. or as if you were something he could use. manipulate. store away for when he needed.

and you weren't sure if you wanted to run.

or stay there forever.