The night was thick with the promise of rain, the clouds hanging low and oppressive, but inside, the air was charged with something else entirely. The world outside faded to a blur as the steady drum of my heartbeat became the only sound I could hear. Everything was sharper in his presence, more vivid—the light, the heat, the way my skin seemed to hum just from being near him.

He stood across the room, his silhouette outlined by the dim light filtering in through the window. The soft glow cast a shadow across his sharp features, highlighting the quiet intensity that always radiated off him. His presence filled the space, commanding it effortlessly, like he had done with me so many times before.

There was no pretense between us anymore. There hadn't been for a long time. He had this unnerving ability to see through every wall I put up, every layer I tried to hide behind. It wasn't just that he understood me—he knew me, in ways no one else ever could. He didn't just see the person I showed to the world; he saw the person I was when no one else was watching, when I was stripped bare of every defense, every carefully crafted mask.

It was maddening and intoxicating all at once, the way he could read me with just a glance. His eyes, dark and intense, were locked on mine, holding me in place. I felt exposed under his gaze, as though he was peeling back every layer of my being without ever having to speak a word. And it wasn't just that he could see me—he knew me inside out, understood every secret, every thought, every desire I had never dared to voice.

"You're doing it again," he said, his voice a low, husky murmur that sent a shiver down my spine. His tone was laced with a knowing edge, as though he was amused by how easily he could unravel me. He moved closer, the space between us shrinking with every slow, deliberate step he took.

I swallowed hard, feeling the tension tighten around us like an invisible thread, pulling me closer to him even as I stood perfectly still. My pulse quickened, my breath catching in my throat as I watched him approach. There was something about the way he moved, so sure, so confident, like he knew exactly what effect he had on me—and he did. He always did.

"You overthink," he continued, stopping just a breath away from me. His voice was low, almost a whisper, but it echoed through the room, vibrating in the air between us. "I can see it all over your face. You try to hide it, but you know you can't—not from me."

My heart raced, the weight of his words settling deep in my chest. He was right. He always was. It was maddening, the way he could read me like this, like I was an open book he had memorized long ago. Every time I tried to pull away, to put some distance between us, he would close the gap effortlessly, drawing me back in with that quiet, unwavering certainty.

"I know you," he murmured, his eyes never leaving mine. His hand reached up, fingertips grazing the side of my face, the touch so light it sent a jolt of electricity through me. "I know what you're thinking before you even say a word. I know what you want, even when you don't."