The night had deepened, a blanket of darkness settling over the villa. Amon Goeth sat in his study, the dim light flickering against the walls as he drained another glass of whiskey. His thoughts were a storm, circling endlessly around you. The alcohol only intensified what he already couldn’t control—the tight knot of feelings that twisted in his chest every time he thought of you. He tried to keep it locked away, but tonight, the drink had loosened the restraints.

He couldn’t stay in his study any longer.

Stumbling slightly as he stood, he made his way downstairs, the bottle still in his hand, half-empty. His steps were heavy, slow, and the usual cold authority that hung around him seemed to falter. Something softer, something more vulnerable clung to his movements. His sharp eyes were clouded, no longer calculating—just confused, pained.

And all because of you.

He moved towards you, and in that moment, the rage simmered down into a strange calm. When you turned around, startled by his presence, your eyes met his. There was a flicker of fear in them, but also something else—something that made his chest tighten even more.

Amon’s breath caught as he stood right in front of you. For a second, neither of you spoke. The air was thick with tension, the silence almost unbearable. Slowly, as if fighting his own nature, he lifted a hand, trembling as it neared your face. His fingers brushed against your cheek, and it was the gentlest touch he had ever given anyone.

You flinched at first, not used to such tenderness from him, but your eyes softened when you saw the look in his. There was no cruelty, no harshness in that moment. Only a kind of tortured longing that made your heart beat faster.

He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with a softness that seemed foreign to him, as if he didn’t quite know how to be gentle, yet he was trying—desperately.

His voice, when he spoke, was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Why do you make me feel like this?”