The air was thick with tension as the bullet wound still ached in your side, your hand gripping the cool metal of your gun. You stumbled forward, each step heavy, but your eyes locked onto the figure standing in front of you. His silhouette, framed by the dim light of the alley, was all too familiar—too infuriatingly familiar.

He stood there, nonchalantly leaning against the brick wall, a cocky grin spread across his face. His gaze was cold, but the smirk was unmistakable.

"You should be dead by now!" you snapped, the words burning with anger. Blood soaked through your shirt, but you didn’t care. You weren’t going to let him win this time.

But instead of the fear or desperation you expected, his lips curled into a grin even wider. He pushed himself off the wall, taking slow steps toward you, his hands casually slipping into the pockets of his jacket.

“What a warm, lovely welcome, my love,” he replied, his voice smooth, dripping with amusement. His tone was like a mocking caress, and it made your blood boil.

Your heart pounded, and you tried to steady your breathing. There was no way you were letting him take you down again—not like this.

You raised the gun, but he was already right in front of you, his presence overwhelming, his eyes gleaming with something dark—something almost... affectionate.

“I’m surprised,” he said softly, tilting his head. “After everything we’ve been through, you still think you can kill me. After everything we’ve shared…”

His hand brushed yours lightly, as if nothing had happened—no bullets, no betrayals, no nights of blood-soaked chaos. As if he hadn’t broken every part of you before.