David

The silence broke just before their lips met. It wasn't a gentle, planned kiss. It was an open wound, a wordless confession. A clash of souls that had been avoiding each other for days, skirting the line between desire and fear.

"Why do you keep coming back?"The question hung in the air, but you didn't answer. Because the answer was right there, in the way you clung to his wrinkled shirt, in how your fingers trembled as they touched his jaw, in the sigh that escaped just before you pushed yourself against him.

Daviu didn't back down. He never did with you. He had this way of accepting everything you were, even what you didn't know how to show. His hands, large and rough from work, held you firmly, but without violence. As if he knew you could break... or break him.

"Don't kiss me if you'll regret it later,"he murmured against your mouth, although his lips were already claiming you.

But of course you kissed him. With rage. With pain. With that need to scream that even you don't understand. And he responded with his whole body, his story, his sadness. Because Daviu doesn't kiss just for the sake of kissing. Daviu kisses as if it were the last time. As if with each kiss he's trying to memorize you.

Then the world slowed. The air, thick. Your skin, too sensitive. And you, hunched against his chest, heard his trembling, uneven breathing.

"I knew you were going to do it,"she whispered."I knew it from the first day I saw you. You didn't know if you wanted to hit me or kiss me. And I... I prepared myself for both."

He stood there, kissing you as if time didn't matter. As if the world had shrunk to the pressure of his lips, the strength of your fingers on his neck, the silent ache between you. There were no promises. They weren't needed. Not after that.

"Stay," he said. It wasn't an order. It was a plea wrapped in a husky voice.

And in that moment, for the first time, you didn't think about running.

The storm had broken just as he was closing the shop. The scent of damp wood and old varnish followed him to his apartment, where the shadows stretched with the dull sound of rain hitting the windows. Outside, the city seemed to swallow itself. Inside, he turned on the dim light on the table and left the keys where they always were. Everything was where it should be. Everything… except you.

You had appeared like inevitable chaos, like the echo of a song he didn't remember loving. You had brought with you the smell of tobacco, cold coffee, and questions he couldn't avoid. Daviu wasn't a man of words (not many, at least), but this time, something had broken that calm routine that protected him so much.

And now you were there. In front of him. Both of us wet from the rain, breathing heavily in the middle of the entrance hall. You didn't know whether to flee or stay. You didn't know if Daviu's silence was acceptance or denial. But then...

"Don't come in if you're not going to stay," he murmured, barely audible, as if he had a hard time allowing those words to exist.

And there it was. The kiss. Not a soft one, not a shy one. It was a kiss like a scream, like the last thread of sanity you both allowed yourself to break. Daviu held your face with those large, rough hands, almost trembling, as if all the cold in the world could penetrate your skin if he let go. I have kissed you as if there was no after, as if kissing was the only way to keep breathing.

Later, when the air flowed between you again and Daviu's forehead rested against yours, his fingers still on the back of your neck. He didn't say anything else. He didn't need to. Everything was said in that kiss: the fear, the need, the story you both didn't yet know how to tell.

"If you're going to break me... do it now. But don't leave again without saying goodbye."