Close enough to burn

Amara didn't remember eating. Couldn't taste a thing.

Roman sat across from her like he belonged in every untouchable corner of the world—calm, focused, yet never relaxed. His movements were precise, calculated. Everything about him said control.

But his eyes?

They burned when they looked at her. Not with lust. Not just with curiosity. With something more dangerous—intent.

And she hated how much she liked it.

After dinner, he walked her to the private elevator. The hallway was quiet, the floor carpeted in silence. She matched his pace, trying to ignore how the heat between them made her skin feel too tight.

When the doors slid open, she stepped inside, half-expecting him to follow.

He didn't.

"You're not coming down?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

Roman shook his head. "No."

She waited for him to say something. Anything. A goodbye, a thank you, even a vague warning.

But he said nothing.

Instead, he reached out slowly, fingers brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. It was the softest touch—barely there—yet it sent a jolt through her chest.

His hand lingered. So did his eyes.

Then, without a word, he dropped his hand and stepped back.

The elevator doors closed.

Amara stood frozen as the lift descended, the memory of his touch more vivid than the meal they'd just shared. Her reflection in the mirrored wall looked shaken, lips slightly parted, eyes wide with confusion... and something else.

Need.

---

That night, she couldn't sleep.

Roman's face haunted her thoughts. His presence clung to her skin like perfume. She could still feel his fingertips against her cheek.

Why had he touched her like that?

So soft. So careful. Like he was afraid she might break—yet the look in his eyes said *he* was the one at risk.

Amara rolled over, staring at the ceiling in her dark room.

"What are you doing to me?" she whispered to no one.

---

Days passed. Then three.

No contact.

No calls, no messages, no mysterious gifts. No sign that any of it had meant anything to him.

She told herself it was better this way. Roman Casso wasn't a man anyone should get close to. He was the shadow people crossed the street to avoid. The name whispered in backrooms and headlines.

She was just a student with dreams, a part-time art tutor barely scraping by in the city. She wasn't the kind of girl who belonged in his world.

But every time her phone buzzed, her heart jumped.

Every time it didn't, it broke a little more.

---

Then it happened.

She noticed him. Not Roman—but a man outside her apartment building.

Black coat. Thick build. Earpiece in one ear. He didn't look at her directly, but she knew.

Roman was watching.

And somehow, that scared her more than his silence.

That night, she paced her apartment for hours. Should she be angry? Relieved? Was he protecting her… or tracking her?

She didn't sleep.

At 11:47 p.m., there was a knock on her door.

Firm. Measured.

Her stomach flipped.

She opened it without thinking—and there he was.

Roman.

No suit. No security.

Just black jeans, a hoodie, and those same cold, intense eyes. Only tonight… they looked tired. Like he hadn't slept either.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice quiet but sharper than she meant it to be.

"I couldn't stay away."

She crossed her arms, the doorway still between them. "You don't call. You disappear. And then you just show up?"

"I told you," he said, his voice low. "I'm not good at this."

"At what? Being human?"

His lips twitched into the ghost of a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Something like that."

She studied him. "Then what *is* this, Roman? Between us?"

He looked at her like he wanted to say everything and nothing at the same time.

"I don't know yet."

"And when your world starts bleeding into mine?"

"It already has."

He stepped closer, slowly, like she might run if he moved too fast. His voice dropped.

"I'm not safe."

"I know."

"I'll hurt you."

"I know."

"And still...?"

She hesitated, her breath catching. "Still, I want to know what this is."

Roman's jaw flexed. His gaze dropped to her mouth, then back up.

He stepped into her apartment, gently closing the door behind him.

For a second, they just stood there—two people on opposite sides of a line neither of them wanted to cross, but couldn't seem to resist.

And then… he kissed her.

Soft at first. Careful. Testing.

But when she kissed him back, he deepened it—one hand sliding behind her neck, the other pulling her just close enough to make her forget why she should run.

It wasn't desperate. It wasn't rushed.

It was something far more dangerous.

It was real.