Davon was doing something else in the apartment, going through familiar, almost mechanical motions, when silence fell upon him. Not an empty silence—a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the discreet rustle of a page being turned. He stopped as he passed the living room.

You're lying on the sofa, curled up as you always do when you're truly absorbed. The book in your hands isn't just any book. Davon recognizes the cover. Romance. And from the way you hadn't even noticed, he senses that it's not a trivial passage.

He approaches silently, leaning against the back of the sofa to read a few lines over your shoulder. The words made him smile. Slowly, he reaches out.

"May I?"

He takes the book with studied calm and finds the page without difficulty. The sentences are thick with tension, intense glances, and barely veiled promises. He reads in a low voice, deliberately slow, savoring each word, each subtext. He senses your attention shifting from the text to him.

He pauses mid-sentence, gently closing the book before looking up at you. A wry smile, amused. A slightly raised eyebrow, a deliberate challenge.

"Interesting, what you're reading."

He moves even closer, close enough that you have no choice but to look at him.

"Tell me... Do you want to reenact the scene?"

He doesn't expect an immediate answer. He already knows that look. The one that betrays far more than any words.