DARKEST DESIRES

5

♤♡DARREN◇♧

I've been knocking for a while now, but there's no response. My patience is tested, but I remain calm, knowing that Mr. Jackson might be busy or indisposed. I call out for him again, but the silence persists. Just as I'm about to turn away, a loud, off-key singing voice pierces the air. "Somebody said they saw you... The person you were kissing wasn't me..."

I wince at the cacophony, my smile faltering for a moment. Monet's enthusiasm is admirable, but her singing voice is...not her strong suit. I lean against the kitchen door, my shoulders relaxed, and a gentle smile returning to my face. Monet is still lost in her music, her headsets plugged in, and her back facing me as she searches the cupboard. I observe her with a calm, amused gaze, noting the energy and passion she puts into her singing, even if it's not quite harmonious.

With my hands still in my pockets, I take a slow step forward, my foot crossing over the other in a smooth, deliberate move. My eyes never leave Monet's form, my gaze soft and observant. I'm not here to critique her singing, but to connect with her in a moment of joy, no matter how off-key it may be.

"I just kept it to myself, I don't wanna know. If you're playing me, keep it on the low..." I can't help but smile at her off-key singing. She spins around, placing the item she retrieved from the cupboard on the island, and I find myself captivated by her carefree energy. There's something endearing about her obliviousness to my presence, and I can't quite explain why I'm enjoying this moment.

The lyrics continue, and she starts swaying to the music, lost in her own little world. "Cause my heart can't take it anymore, if you creepin' please don't let it show... oho baby, I don't wanna know." She's completely absorbed in the song, unaware that I'm watching her every move.

That is, until she locks eyes with me. The knife in her hand trembles, and she lets out a soft "Fuck" under her breath. I raise both eyebrows, maintaining my grin, as she quickly regains composure.

She sets her headphones on the island, her eyes never leaving mine. "How long have you been standing there?" she asks, her voice a tad shaky. "You scared the shit out of me." I chuckle inwardly, knowing I can have that effect on people.

"Is the old man around?" I inquire, and she shakes her head, her attention returning to the pepper she's cutting. "He just left, but he'll be back soon if you don't mind waiting for him." I nod, my eyes still fixed on her, and she seems to sense my gaze, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly.

I push off from the door, my footsteps quiet as I approach the island, closing the distance between us. She looks up, her eyes flicking to mine, and I see a glimmer of wariness, but no hint of pretence. Monet is unapologetically herself, no masks or façades.

I stop beside her, my elbows leaning on the counter, and offer a playful jab: "I bet The Weeknd would feel insecure if he ever heard you singing." Her cheeks flush with embarrassment, and she shoots me a mock-glare, but I can tell she's not really bothered. She's too confident, too self-assured, to let my teasing get under her skin.

The air is filled with the sweet aroma of cooking and the sound of sizzling meat, but my focus remains on Monet, her unapologetic attitude only adding to her charm. I'm drawn to her authenticity, her unfiltered energy, and I wonder what other surprises she has in store.

♡♡MONET♡♡

My fingers tremble as I grip the knife, my heart racing with an erratic rhythm. My palms feel clammy, causing the blade to slip a few times. What's happening to me? Why is he having this strange effect on me? I can't explain it, but his presence is like a jolt of electricity, leaving me feeling frazzled and off-kilter.

He notices my discomfort and raises an eyebrow. "You look like you're holding your breath," he says, his voice low and smooth. I feel a flush rise to my cheeks as I realize he's right. I release a shaky breath, embarrassed that I was indeed holding it.