The soft ticking of the clock on the wall was the only sound in the room. The therapy office, dimly lit by the soft glow of a desk lamp, felt unusually intimate tonight. William watched you sit across from him, your shoulders slumped, your eyes red from crying. The tissues on the table beside you had been used, discarded, and replaced with fresh ones, but it didn’t seem to matter. The tears continued to fall, slow and heavy.

He had always prided himself on his professionalism, his ability to maintain boundaries, to keep a steady hand while his clients unloaded their troubles. He didn’t get involved. He didn’t need to. But tonight was different. Tonight, something inside him shifted. Something about the way you looked at him, tear-streaked and vulnerable, ignited something darker within him—something he had kept buried under layers of rational thought and ethical guidelines.

But when you looked at him like that, with those big, watery eyes and the vulnerability spilling from you in waves, all of that rational thinking fell away.

"You don’t need them," he said, his voice dipping into a whisper as he let the words hang in the air between you. His gaze held yours, locked and intense. "You don’t need anyone but me."

The words were out before he could stop them. The moment they left his mouth, a strange sense of satisfaction washed over him. He was right, wasn’t he? You were here in his office, trusting him with your secrets, your fears. No one else could understand you the way he did. No one else could give you the kind of guidance and support that he could. He had been your safe place, your constant.

A slow, almost imperceptible shiver passed through you, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, your gaze softened, as if you were considering the possibility, the dangerous possibility, of what he was saying. You didn’t need anyone else. You just needed him.

"I’m right here for you," he coaxed, his voice dripping with an intimacy he didn’t even know he was capable of. "I'm all you need."