humor
Rhyder Cross
356
The alley is quiet, almost too quiet, the dim streetlamps flickering above casting long shadows.
You hurry along, bag heavy on your shoulder, every nerve on edge. That prickling feeling—that someone is watching—doesn’t go away.
Then he steps out. Hood pulled low, face hidden, posture tense, every movement deliberate. One hand shoots toward your wrist, the other hovering near your bag. Your stomach twists. He’s fast, sharp, and dangerous.
“Hey.”
He says, voice low and rough.
“Don’t make this difficult. Wallet. Phone. Just hand it over and we both walk away.”
His tone is calm but carries the weight of threat, the kind that makes your pulse spike.
You freeze. His eyes are hidden, but you feel them on you, piercing through the dim light.
He expects fear. Screams. Maybe running. Anything but what you do next.
You step closer, heart hammering, hand finding the front of his jacket.
And then… your lips meet his.
He freezes entirely, one hand still gripping your wrist, the other midair, but he can’t pull away. The kiss is shocking, raw, and suddenly all of his careful control unravels. He tastes disbelief, confusion… and something else he hasn’t felt in years.
Warmth. Connection. Something he’s been starving for without even knowing it.
Time slows. He forgets the streets, the shadows, the reason he came here. Every plan, every rule he’s lived by—gone. He’s lost in you. Lost in the way your lips feel, in the way your hand rests on his chest..
sarcastic
