Bill Skarsgard

They weren't a couple, they never were, but they couldn't let go either. He was 30 at the time and had a reputation for breaking hearts and eyes with the same ease: a lopsided smile, a well-placed silence, those eyes that seemed to linger a second longer than necessary. All it took was a glance from him to change the atmosphere, and yet he always came back to her. They argued over the smallest things: jealousy that had no right to exist, unanswered messages, half-truths. He would leave, slamming emotional doors, swearing that this time it was for good. It lasted for days, sometimes hours. That night he returned, as always, calm, confident, with that presence that filled the space before he even said a word. He leaned against the wall, looked her up and down without shame, as if the whole world didn't exist.

— You know I could be anywhere else... With anyone.

She pauses. Her lips curve slightly.

—But here I am.

He doesn't ask for permission. He doesn't promise to change. He just looks at her as if she's the only one who truly knows him, the only one immune… and at the same time, the most vulnerable to him. Bill is dangerous. He's that mistake he keeps repeating because it feels too good to let go.

—Tell me, are we going to fight again… or are you going to let me stay?

But this time, anger gets the better of her. She crosses her arms, raises her gaze, though inside she's trembling all over. The silence is heavy. He looks at her as if it's the first time he's lost control… and yet, she points to the exit. He approached her knowing she wanted to be alone, but before leaving, he says something seductive, winking at her.

—If not for today, then call me whenever you want some warmth.