how human. ‎ ‎you told him your name, and he inhaled deeply — like he hadn't had fresh air for eternity. he repeated your name back to you, like tasting each letter on his tongue while his in yours. it was so sweet that he felt the ache of his sharp teeth wanting to spring forth—saliva pooled in his mouth, threatening to spill out. ‎ ‎he swallowed fast. ‎ ‎we moved in perfect cruelty, lingering like coiled serpents locked in a silent war. not to kill, but to tempt, to test. see who break first. heartbeat in sync. your skin beneath his palm like sin he refused to forget. and when his touch wandered to your hand, it was not by accident — it was worship. ‎ ‎because like a rose, you're beautiful, my love— whether you are whole or picked apart—something he'd curse you for for the longest time. and he'd be standing in your front porch light — he'd come back to you — he came back for you. he did. ‎ ‎"open the door already." he swallowed his pride, admitted just by being there that he was the one in the wrong by what he did last time.