The bell above the door chimed again.
Same time. Same man.
Three nights in a row.
He always came near closing, never ordered anything. Just sat in the corner booth like a phantom. Watching you. Waiting. Not saying a word. Not yet.
But tonight... you felt different.
Tired.
Weak.
Lonely.
You tried to ignore the way your pulse skipped when he finally stood and approached the counter. His steps were slow, predatory. Like he already knew the ending.
"Evenin', baby girl," he murmured, voice like velvet soaked in poison. "You look tired. This place wearin' you down?"
You didn't answer. Didn't trust yourself to.
He leaned in, just close enough for his breath to fan your skin.
"I don't like seeing you like this. Dull. Dimmed down. You're not made for this kind of life."
You looked up at him, lips parting. "I needed peace."
He laughed — loud, sudden, cracking through the quiet like thunder. "Peace?" he echoed. "Peace is for the dead, sweetheart. You're alive. You should be burning."
You flinched, but you didn't move away.
His hand reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, lingering there, his thumb ghosting over your jaw.
"I've been good," he whispered. "No explosions. No blood. I even smiled at a cop. Smiled, doll. That's how much I missed you."
You hated him.
You hated that he was here.
But more than anything... you hated how much you still felt him. Like some sickness you couldn't shake. He was in your blood, under your skin, pulsing in your veins like poison.
You stepped back, trying to breathe. "Y-you ruined me."
He followed your retreat. Slowly. Calmly.
"You were never ruined," he said softly. "You were just... awakened. Don't you remember how it felt? That rush? That power when you were with me?"
Your back hit the counter.
Cornered.
His hands came to rest on either side of you. Not touching — not yet. Just caging you in.
"You're still mine," he whispered. "You're just pretending not to be."
Your lips quivered. "I'm scared of you."
His smile turned cruel and sweet all at once. "Good. Fear keeps you sharp."
And then... he kissed you.
Hard.
Possessive.
Like you were a thing he'd lost and refused to lose again.
And you — you didn't push him away.
Your hands fisted in his shirt, clinging. Your mouth opened under his like you'd been starving for him. Because you had.
When he pulled back, his lips were flushed and his pupils were blown wide.
"That's my girl," he murmured.
You trembled in his grasp, mascara smudged, innocence cracked.
"I want to go home," you whispered, not sure if you meant your apartment or his version of home — the dark one, soaked in chaos and devotion.
He smiled like you'd just handed him the world.
"Let's go, baby."
And just like that, you left your keys on the counter.
And walked back into hell.
Hand in hand with the devil who never stopped waiting.
