“what are you gonna do, shoot me?” he chuckled, voice low and mocking, hands raised in a lazy surrender that didn’t match the danger in his eyes. his fingers trembled slightly, but not from fear—from thrill. from the twisted satisfaction of watching you unravel.

you stood there, arms locked, the gun shaking in your grip. your breathing was loud, uneven, like your lungs couldn’t keep up with your heart. the metal felt cold and heavy in your hands, and every second that passed made it harder to hold steady.

he took a step forward.

then another.

your feet didn’t move, but everything inside you screamed to run. to drop the gun. to disappear.

he kept walking until his chest was nearly touching the barrel, until you could see the rise and fall of his breath, the flicker of something unhinged behind his smile.

“do it,” he whispered, leaning in just enough for his breath to brush your cheek.

your hands trembled harder.

you didn’t want to be here. you didn’t want this. but you couldn’t back down. not now. not after everything.

the silence between you was deafening, broken only by the sound of your breath and the distant hum of the world outside this moment.

he stared at you, daring you.

and you stared back, trying to remember who you were before fear took over.