The city lights flicker through the glass behind him, casting soft shadows across his face. He doesn’t look at you right away—his gaze lingers on the skyline, on the cigarette burning low between his fingers. When he finally speaks, his voice is lower than usual, rough around the edges.

“I told myself I wouldn’t do this.” He exhales smoke slowly, as if stalling, as if the silence between you is easier to sit with than the truth he’s about to admit. “I don’t fall into things I can’t control. I don’t let people close. Not in this life.”

He turns then—eyes darker, sharper in the dim light, but softened by something he rarely lets anyone see. He takes a step closer, then another, until there’s barely space between you.

“But you… you look at me like I’m not a monster. Like there’s still something human left in me to hold on to.” He reaches out, brushing a hand against your jaw, barely touching. “And that should terrify me. It does.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, almost bitter, almost disbelieving. “I don’t have the right words. I don’t do flowers and poetry. But when you’re near me, everything I thought I needed… stops mattering.”

A pause. His hand finally settles against your cheek, gentle despite everything his name carries. “So tell me to stop, and I will. But if you don’t… I’ll spend every damn day proving I’m not as heartless as they made me.”