The kitchen was alive with the low hum of activity, a room full of motion that seemed muted in her ears the moment she saw him.

He was standing across the room, casually leaning against the counter, his sharp features softened by the dim, warm light. She felt the air shift, her chest tightening. She couldn't look away, no matter how much she willed herself to. And then, his eyes found hers.

She froze.

It wasn't just a glance. It was a gaze that burned through the space between them, stripping her of every shield she thought she had. Her throat went dry, her hands instinctively tightening their grip on the counter behind her.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He moved. Each step felt deliberate, as if the world itself paused to make way for him. By the time he reached her, she could barely breathe.

He didn't speak right away. He stood close, too close, his presence a storm crashing into her calm. The faint scent of him - clean, warm, and unmistakably him - wrapped around her like a second skin.

"I know," he said finally, his voice low and laced with something she couldn't name.

Her brows furrowed. "You know what?" she whispered, though the words barely made it out.

He tilted his head, his dark eyes glittering with something that made her stomach twist. "Everything." His lips curved into a knowing smile. "I know how you feel. The way you watch me, like you're trying to figure me out. Like you can't help yourself."

Her heart slammed against her ribs. "You're imagining things," she shot back, though the words felt weak, hollow.

He chuckled - a soft, low sound that made her pulse stutter. "Am I?"

Before she could think of a reply, he leaned in, his hand brushing against the counter beside her, trapping her in place. "Let's get one thing straight," he said, his voice now a whisper against her ear. "You and me? we're not one. That's not how this works."

The words were a punch to the chest. Anger flickered to life within her, mingling with the whirlwind of confusion and desire. "Then what do you want from me?" she demanded, her voice trembling.

For a moment, he said nothing. His hand moved to her waist, firm and commanding, pulling her closer until there was barely a breath between them. His other hand rose, his fingers curling gently around her neck, his thumb brushing against her jawline.

"What are you doing?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

His eyes bore into hers, intense and unrelenting. "Exactly what I shouldn't."

And then, without hesitation, his lips crushed against hers.

The kiss was everything she didn't expect - fierce, consuming, and impossibly electric. It wasn't soft or tentative; it was raw, almost desperate, as if he was claiming a part of her she didn't know she had to give. Her world tilted, her knees weakening under the weight of the moment.

Her hands, almost on instinct, gripped his shirt, holding on as if she might fall apart if she didn't. The heat of his touch burned through her, igniting something she couldn't contain.

And just as quickly as it began, it ended.

He pulled back, his breathing ragged, his eyes locked on hers. For a second, he lingered, his thumb grazing her jaw one last time. Then he let go, his warmth retreating like a tide.

Without a word, he turned and walked away, leaving her rooted to the spot, her body trembling, her lips tingling, and her mind an explosion of questions.

She stared after him, her chest heaving as she tried to make sense of what had just happened. What did he mean? What did he want?

And why, despite everything, did she wish he would come back?