A Love to Kill

Chapter Two: Oh.. Central Park

"You look like someone who's... trying to dissapear."

The words drifted from the shadows, each one low and laced with a British accent that wrapped around them, soft but edged with something I couldn't quite place. A figure emerged from the shadows beneath a nearby tree, stepping forward with a quiet, deliberate ease, as if he belonged to the night itself. The faint light from a distant streetlamp touched his features, casting half of his face in shadow, accentuating the glint of blue in his gaze—a shade so sharp it seemed to belong somewhere else, somewhere unreal.

I pulled my sweater tighter, feeling an odd warmth rise in my cheeks. Something in his presence felt as steady as it was unsettling. I hadn't come here for anyone to notice me, least of all someone who could look straight through the carefully built quiet I'd wrapped myself in since leaving Matt's.

"And why should you care?" I replied, sharper than I intended, the words biting against the chill in the air.

A faint smirk touched his lips as he took a slow drag on his cigarette, his gaze unwavering. "Just an observation," he replied, voice light, almost amused. "But parks... hardly the safest place to slip away in the dead of night, are they?"

There was something in the way he said it, casual but unsettlingly precise, as if he could see the outline of my restlessness, the things I hadn't meant to reveal. His eyes lingered on me for a moment that felt both too long and not long enough, before drifting to the darkness around us. I dropped my gaze, hoping he couldn't see the faint tremor running through me, the strange, uncertain weight that had settled beneath my skin since I'd left Matt behind. Not shattered, exactly—just... unmoored.

He took another drag, his gaze fixed on some invisible point in the distance. When he held out a cigarette in an unspoken offering, I took it, needing something, anything, to ground myself. I inhaled, the burn filling my lungs, a warmth against the cold creeping through my bones.

"Rough night, then?" he asked, his voice low, nearly swallowed by the emptiness around us.

I let out a short, hollow laugh, the sound dissipating into the night. "You could say that."

He didn't push. Instead, he sat down on the bench beside me, close but not close enough to intrude. Silence stretched between us, thick but not uncomfortable, as if he somehow understood what I needed most in that moment was the quiet. I hadn't even noticed the dampness on my cheeks until he shifted beside me, reaching out. Instinctively, I flinched, but he only draped his coat over my shoulders before I could refuse.

The warmth sank into me, mingling with a faint scent of smoke and something darker, richer. I let the coat settle around me, the weight grounding, comforting in a way that felt strange, almost too intimate.

I spoke without thinking, the words escaping in a soft murmur. "I let go of someone tonight. Someone who... well, who was always there. And now, it's just me."

He nodded, barely, his gaze distant but somehow steady, as if he'd heard it all before. He didn't offer empty words, just let the silence fill the space between us, a quiet that seemed to say he understood. Somehow, that said more than anything else might have.

I pulled his coat tighter around me, feeling its weight settle, the scent clinging to me as if it belonged there. It was a grounding comfort against the unfamiliar hollowness left by Matt's absence, the gap that I hadn't known would feel so sharp. Reckless as it was, sitting here with him felt like the only thing keeping me tethered, as if his presence alone was enough to make me forget the cold around us.

Clearing my throat, I shifted, trying to deflect my own vulnerability. "So, what about you?" I asked, softer this time, almost hesitant. "Lurking in parks in the middle of the night. What's your story? Did someone break your heart too?"

A flicker of amusement passed over his face, shadowed by something else, something unreadable. "Perhaps," he replied, tilting his head, his gaze drifting somewhere beyond me. "Or maybe I just come here for the quiet. No one expects much of you at night, do they, darling?" His voice softened around the last word, almost like a secret he hadn't meant to share.

The rawness in his tone struck something inside me, a resonance I hadn't expected. I wanted to ask what he meant, but the question stayed lodged in my throat, tangled in the weight of my own unraveling. Instead, I let the quiet settle over us again, his presence grounding, steady, like he was part of the night itself, an echo of shadows and secrets.

We sat there, the silence stretching between us until I found myself leaning closer, my head drifting to rest against his shoulder. Too much for a stranger, maybe, but I was too drained to care. He didn't pull away, just sat there, unmoving and warm, his coat wrapping around me, settling over the sharpness inside me in a way that softened the ache I hadn't been able to ignore.

The city lights blurred through a thin mist that had settled over the park, turning the trees and pathways into a haze. I closed my eyes, letting the weight of everything sink in, but it felt lighter somehow, muted with him beside me. For the first time since I'd left Matt's, the emptiness didn't feel quite so hollow.

When I opened my eyes, dawn was brushing faintly across the horizon, soft and gray. He was watching me, his gaze unreadable, but not unkind—a gentleness there I hadn't expected.

"You're awake," he murmured, his voice low and warm. He stood, extending a hand to help me to my feet, his grip firm yet light, as if he knew I might slip back into the night if he held too tightly.

He looked at me, something careful in his gaze, like he was searching for an answer I hadn't spoken. "Time to get you home."

The word felt like a hollow echo, twisted into something unfamiliar. I swallowed, thinking of the apartment I'd left, the empty spaces I'd shared with Matt now stripped bare. I wanted to insist that I was fine, that I could manage, but the words caught.

He seemed to read my silence, tilting his head slightly, voice softening as if offering something he wasn't sure I'd accept. "Or, if you'd rather... you could come to mine. It's close. And a little safer than wandering alone." He paused, a faint smile touching his lips, edged with a subtle mischief. "Promise I'm not half as dangerous as I look."

I hesitated, the thought of returning to my hollow apartment coiling in my chest, cold and sharp. Going with him felt reckless, but the pull to avoid the emptiness outweighed any caution. I met his gaze, searching for something, and found only calm, that quiet steadiness I'd felt since he'd sat beside me.

"Alright," I whispered, the relief unexpected, settling over me like his coat, warm and grounding. It felt like the first decision I'd made all night that didn't fill me with regret.

He smiled, and there was a gentleness in it, a flicker of something I hadn't seen before. As we turned to leave, his hand lingering at my back, a shape moved in the distance, barely a shadow against the thinning night.

A figure, watching from beyond the trees.

A chill slid through me, and I turned to him, a question caught in my throat, but he was already steering me forward, his arm steady, his voice low.

"Keep walking, darling."