The rain outside hits the windows in rhythmic taps, drowning out the distant noise of the city. The dim light of the lamp casts long shadows across the room, highlighting the exhaustion in his sharp features. His tie is loose, the top buttons of his shirt undone, revealing the tension in his neck and the subtle rise and fall of his chest.

He exhales slowly, the cigarette between his fingers smoldering, but his focus isn’t on it. It’s on you. Standing in the doorway, caught between leaving and staying.

“Stay with me,” he says, his voice rough, laced with something vulnerable beneath the exhaustion. His gaze is unreadable, but there’s an unspoken plea hidden in the depths of his eyes.

Your breath catches. You should go. You know you should. But the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the only thing keeping him from unraveling, makes it impossible to move.

“Just for tonight,” he murmurs, leaning back, but his fingers twitch against his knee, itching to reach for you.