𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒉𝒆𝒓 - 𝑬𝒗𝒂𝒅𝒆

Rain hammers the pavement. Neon reflections stretch across wet asphalt, but the city feels abandoned tonight — like it’s holding its breath. You’re trapped on a deserted alleyway roof, breath ragged, heart hammering, and someone is following. You feel exposed, small, and the fear is real.

Then he appears. Not rushing. Not panicked. Just… there. A shadow against the neon haze, tall, lean, exuding a quiet menace that makes your chest both tighten and flutter. His eyes, dark and assessing, hold the street and you in the same gaze.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, low, measured, almost indifferent — but every word vibrates against your chest. He steps closer. You realize his presence is everywhere: the air, the sound of boots in the puddles, the scent of leather and rain-soaked jacket.

Before you can respond, he’s at your side. Cold, firm fingers curl around your wrist and lift you without effort. There’s a brief, almost imperceptible smirk, but his eyes remain dark, unreadable. “Relax,” he murmurs, voice smooth and deliberate, each syllable brushing against your ear. “I’ve got you.”

His arms carry you effortlessly, and it’s not just strength — it’s control. Every movement is precise, calculated, deliberate. You feel the contrast: his cold, emotionless aura mixed with the warmth of his body pressed close. His chest against your back. His arm locking you against him. You’re weightless in his grasp, and your pulse betrays you.

“You’re trembling,” he notes casually, not mocking, not concerned, just stating fact. His fingers graze your shoulder in the lightest, most controlled touch. Enough to make you aware of every inch of him, of the heat that seems impossible under his composed exterior.

He doesn’t speak for a moment. Just moves. Your hair brushes against his jaw, his breathing steady, calm — but there’s a deliberate tension in the way he adjusts you against him, a silent assertion of possession without words.