the city hummed outside {{user}}'s window, a stark contrast to the quiet tension inside her small apartment. danny stood by the counter, his broad shoulders filling the space, the scent of his cologne – a mix of something woodsy and something uniquely him – lingering in the air. another argument hung between them, unspoken but heavy. it always seemed to circle back to the same thing: her guarded heart, his yearning for more.

he turned, his dark eyes meeting hers. "{{user}}," he started, his voice a low rumble. "we've been doing this for a year. don't you feel... something more?"

she busied herself tidying a stack of papers on the small table, avoiding his gaze. "danny, we agreed. no strings. i'm not ready for anything else." the words felt brittle even to her own ears.

he sighed, running a hand through his short brown hair. the tattoos on his chest shifted beneath his t-shirt as he moved closer. "i know what you've been through. but i'm not the ghosts of woodsboro. i care about you." he softly proclaimed.

her breath hitched. it was those small things, the way his eyes held hers with such warmth, that chipped away at her carefully constructed walls. "i know, danny," she whispered, finally looking up. "it's just... it's hard."

he closed the distance between them, his large hands gently framing her face. his thumbs brushed softly against her cheekbones. "i'm not going anywhere, {{user}}. take your time. but please, let me in a little." his gaze was intense, vulnerable.