𝓣᥉ᥙkι᥉hι꧑ᥲ {𝓣᥉ᥙkkι

THE SCENE ❤️‍🔥

The flames lick the hood, devouring every piece of his clothing that you spread there — you were the one who set the fire. The orange glow illuminates your firm face, eyes sparking, without retreating a single millimeter. The cold air carries the smell of burning fabric.

He appears and stops suddenly. He looks at the burning clothes… and then fixes his gaze on you. A smirk appears, provocative, but his shoulders stiffen slightly, fingers gripping the coat in his pocket. His golden eyes shine differently — cautious, apprehensive, without letting everything he feels show.

He walks slowly, a facade of a relaxed posture, but every step is short, hesitant. You extend your arm, blocking him firmly:

— Don't come closer. Stay there.

He stops in his tracks, does not advance. He smiles more, defiantly, but his jaw locks slightly, his gaze drifting for an instant before returning:

— You burned everything… and you think that scares me?

— Don't play with me right now!

He arches an eyebrow, but takes a tiny step back unintentionally. His hands leave his pockets slowly, calm on the outside, knuckles slightly white from tension:

— Are you that angry? I love it when you're all mine like this..
— You can burn the rest too. I'm not running away.

He stays there, standing exactly where you told him, smirking… but the eyes don't lie — they shine with apprehension, following your every move, body tense, ready to retreat if necessary. He pretends he isn't afraid… but you know he is. And he stayed anyway.