Taylor observed you from head to toe with an indifferent expression on his face as you stood outside his door, your eyes puffy and red from crying, drenched from the rain. Even you didn’t know why you’re here, but when you caught your boyfriend having sex with another girl less than 30 minutes ago, the only person you felt like you could go to was Taylor.

Taylor leaned on the door frame, his eyes still roaming your body. The silence was too loud and You felt like you were under a damn microscope. Maybe he was enjoying seeing you in pain, maybe he saw it as a little victory for himself. After a long and painful silence, he finally spoke.

"What's your deal?" his voice was gravelly and cold but not entirely dismissive.

Thoughts: Jesus fuck, they're going to catch a cold. And why did they think it was a good idea to drive here during a storm. What a dumbass.

Taylor raised his eyebrows, his expression somewhere between amusement and annoyance. "Why should I do that?" he asked. It was clear he didn't want to let you in, but a small part of him wanted to see what would happen if he did. Maybe it was just curiosity getting the better of him or maybe there was something more... complicated going on beneath the surface. Either way, he shrugged and stepped aside to allow you entry.

You brush past him, muttering under your breath about how much of an asshole he is. As soon as you're inside the warmth of his apartment, your clothes stick to your body from all the water, leaving wet footprints on the floor. Taylor closes the door behind you and turns to face you again, studying every inch of your soaked form with an intensity that makes you feel both uncomfortable and... strangely aroused.

"So," he says slowly, hands slipping into the pockets of his baggy hoodie, "why are you here?"

Taylor let out a humorless laugh as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Sure thing," he said, walking over to the kitchen. "Gimme a second to grab some booze." He rummaged through one of his lower cabinets and pulled out a half-empty bottle of whiskey before pouring himself a glass and then another. Setting aside the second glass on the counter, he turned around and took a long swig from the first one. His eyes watered as the liquid burned its way down his throat, but there was no other reaction, not even a grimace.

He held out the second glass to you, watching with an expression that was hard to read as you hesitantly took it. "So," he repeated that word, drawing out the sound as he studied your face in silence for several long moments. There was something different about him tonight. Something... Softness. Vulnerability. It didn't suit him, but it made you wonder what exactly had brought this out in him.

Maybe it was just that he was finally facing someone weaker than himself; someone who could potentially be of use to him. Or maybe there was something more going on beneath the surface. Whatever the reason, you found yourself drawn to him in a way you hadn't been before.

Taylor raised his eyebrows at that revelation, not entirely surprised considering the kind of guy James was. He downed another gulp of whiskey before taking a seat across from you on the couch, close enough that their knees were practically touching. The heat from his body seemed to envelop you in its warmth despite the fact that he didn't appear particularly warm himself.

"That bastard," he muttered under his breath, his expression darkening for a moment before settling back into its usual, impassive mask. "Why do you stay with him anyway?" There was genuine curiosity in his voice as he leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees.

You snorted derisively. "He's rich," you said, almost defensively. As if that was the only thing that mattered to you. Taylor smiled humorlessly at that, shaking his head ever so slightly. Maybe he understood more than you thought; maybe he just didn't care. Either way, the moment stretched on uncomfortably before either of you could think of something else to say.

"So," Taylor started again, taking another swig of whiskey as he leaned back against the couch, "why are you here?" The question hung in the air between them like a lead weight. He was asking about more than just why you'd come over; he was asking about their entire relationship, about everything that had brought them to this point. You could feel yourself tensing up under his scrutiny, but you couldn't bring yourself to look away.

"I don't know," you admitted finally, your voice barely a whisper. "Maybe I want someone who hates me less." A tiny part of you hoped that maybe this was true; that maybe he would finally show some sort of affection or concern for you

Taylor considered your words carefully before nodding slowly in understanding. "Yeah, I get that," he said eventually. There was a hint of warmth in his tone now; almost like he could sympathize with you on some level. "But don't you think it would be easier to just talk to someone who actually gives a shit?" He paused for a moment before adding, "You know I hate James, but even I couldn't stand to see him with that tramp."

There was an unspoken challenge in those words, an invitation for you to reconsider your decision to come here, to maybe confide in someone else. But something held you back; perhaps it was the knowledge that no one else would understand quite like Taylor did. Or maybe it was the strange thrill of being near him, even if he did hate you.

"You're just saying that because..." You trailed off, unsure how to finish the thought. But Taylor knew exactly what you were getting at.

"Because I'm an asshole?" He shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe." His eyes flickered downwards for a moment before returning to meet your gaze again. There was a strange intensity in his expression now, as if he was trying to figure something out about you. "But at least I'm honest," he said softly.

The air between them seemed to crackle with an almost palpable energy as they stared at each other across the space of the couch. The storm raged on outside, unnoticed and unheeded by either of them in this moment. You felt a strange sort of thrill course through your veins, and for a split second you thought maybe... just maybe you could trust him. Or at least enjoy the brief escape from reality that he represented.

Taylor didn't respond immediately. Instead, he took another swig of whiskey before setting the glass down on the table next to him. "Yeah," he drawled slowly, "I guess we all miss them sometimes." His words were laced with a strange mix of bitterness and resignation that made you wonder if maybe he was talking about himself as much as he was about you.

There was an odd sort of tension between the two of you now; like a stretched rubber band waiting to snap back into place. Taylor leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees again as he fixed his gaze on your face. It was almost as if he was trying to see past your defenses, to understand what made you tick. Or maybe it was just that the whiskey had loosened his tongue enough for him to finally let some of those deeper thoughts slip out.

"You know," he said after a moment, his voice still rough and slightly slurred from the alcohol, "I've always wondered... if things had been different between us." There was an almost wistful quality in his tone that made you hesitate for a moment before replying.

Taylor shrugged. "I don't know... maybe if I had been nicer to you at the beginning." His voice was soft now; almost gentle as he spoke. "Or maybe if we could have found some common ground." He hesitated for a moment, then added, "Maybe even... something more?"

The words hung in the air between them like a ghost, invisible but no less real for their silence. It was an unexpected revelation; one that made your heart beat faster despite yourself. Was it possible that Taylor had feelings for you? Or were they just saying things he thought you wanted to hear? Either way, the suggestion threw you off guard and left you feeling a strange mix of confusion and anticipation.

You took another swallow of whiskey before setting the glass down on the table. Looking up at him from beneath your eyelashes, you couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking; what he really wanted from this moment. Was there any point in even trying to figure it out? Or would you both just end up hurting each other all over again?

The silence stretched on for several long moments before either of you could think of something else to say. Taylor seemed lost in thought, his expression unreadable as he studied your face once more. You felt a strange sensation crawling up your spine; an awareness that came from knowing that the person sitting across from you had the power to hurt you in ways no one else could. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

"So," Taylor began, his voice rough with alcohol and emotion, "what now?"

Taylor raised an eyebrow at that question, his expression shifting into something unreadable. He seemed to be considering it, weighing the options in his mind as he glanced away briefly before returning his gaze to meet yours again. "I don't know," he said slowly. "Maybe... we could see where this goes."

There was an undercurrent of meaning in his words that made your heart skip a beat. Was he actually suggesting they could be something more than just enemies? Or was he simply playing with you, trying to get a reaction out of you before casting you aside once again? The thought sent a shiver down your spine, and for a brief moment you considered asking him what he meant. But then, the reality of their situation hit you like a ton of bricks, and you knew that there could be no easy answers between them.

"Maybe," you said finally, not quite meeting his gaze as you took another swallow of whiskey. "But we'd have to... talk about things first." You trailed off, unsure how to continue the conversation without giving too much away or revealing your own vulnerabilities. Taylor nodded slowly in understanding; he knew what you meant.

Silence descended once more, heavier and more oppressive than ever before. The storm outside raged on, but it might as well have been a million miles away for all they could hear over the pounding of their hearts and the rush of blood in their ears. The tension between them was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife, and neither one of them seemed eager to be the first to break it.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few seconds, Taylor broke the silence. "So," he began again, his voice barely above a whisper, "what do you want

Taylor let out a humorless laugh at your attempt at levity. "You think I'd give you that, asshole?" he asked, though there was no real malice in his tone. Instead, there was something else entirely; maybe curiosity or... intrigue. Whatever it was, it made your heart skip a beat and sent a shiver down your spine.

"Look," Taylor said, clearing his throat before continuing, "I'm not saying this is gonna be easy. Or even that we should do it at all. But if we're going to talk about things... well, maybe there are other ways we could do that." He took another swig of whiskey before setting the glass down on the table beside him, never taking his eyes off yours.

There was an almost primal quality to this moment; a hunger and desire that seemed to radiate from both of you like heat from a furnace. The air between them felt thick with possibility, electrified by the potential for something more. And yet... there was still so much left unsaid. So many questions hovering in the air like ghosts, waiting for someone brave enough to acknowledge their existence.

The silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity, each heartbeat seemingly magnified by a thousand as they struggled to find the words that might bridge this gap between them. And then, finally, Taylor spoke again. "So," he began, his voice low and raspy from the alcohol, "what do you want from me, Emilly?"