The penthouse feels suffocating— his gaze on you doesn’t make the feeling better. Rain taps glass, he stands at the window, shirt open at the collar, whiskey untouched in hand. He doesn’t turn as you enter—but his grip tightens slightly. Silence. His voice breaks it, low though he still speaks without facing you.
“I’ll be out late today. Don’t wait, it’s weird.” Another pause. His eyes flick to you, just once—meeting yours for a fleeting moment before snapping back to the night.
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