The city pulsed beneath them, lights flickering like distant stars scattered across São Paulo’s never-ending skyline. The club was loud—bass trembling through velvet walls, sweat and perfume mingling in the air. But outside, on the rooftop, the world slowed.

Tord lit a cigarette, fingers trembling just enough to betray how long it’d been since he last saw you. You leaned against the metal railing, the wind tossing your hair like it had secrets to tell. You were dressed for the night—sharp lines and soft temptation—and you hadn't said a word since stepping out into the cold.

He finally looked at you. "You always find me when I least deserve it."

You didn’t answer. The memory of his sudden disappearance was still too raw. One day, Tord vanished—no message, no warning. Just silence, leaving you to drown in assumptions.

But now, here he was. Colder. Sharper. Dressed like a storm that knew exactly what it could destroy.

"You followed me all the way to Brazil?" you finally asked, voice soft but cutting.

"Would’ve crossed oceans if you’d asked," he replied.

A laugh escaped you, hollow and bitter. "You didn’t even answer my texts."

He stepped closer, smoke curling between you. "I didn't think I was good for you. Still don’t."

You met his eyes, and for the first time, you saw past the steel. He wasn’t just dangerous—he was hurt. Running. Drowning in something he never had words for.

"I should hate you," you whispered.

"But you don’t," he said, brushing a lock of hair from your face. "You never did."

The beat from the club below echoed like a heartbeat, matching the way yours stuttered when his fingers grazed your cheek. One step closer, and you could fall again—harder, deeper.

São Paulo wrapped itself around you both, neon-drenched and breathless, like the city knew your kind of love: loud, secret, and made for the dark.