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 rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest as you demanded where he keeps his alcohol. "In the cupboard." He pointed towards a plain wooden cupboard with no handles on the doors in the corner of the room, overflowing with mismatched glasses and half-empty bottles.

"Why?" He raised an eyebrow, regarding you suspiciously. "You planning to get shitfaced or something?" His voice was laced with sarcasm and disdain, but it did nothing to diminish the heat in your gaze as you stalked over to the cupboard.

Taylor watched you openly, amused by the anger in your eyes and how easily you downed the liquor straight from the bottle. He wasn't entirely sure if it was because of what had just happened with your boyfriend or because you were just naturally pissed off all the time these days. Either way, he couldn't help but feel a small twinge of sympathy for you... or maybe annoyance that he seemed to be feeling something other than hatred towards you at this moment.

He let out a sigh and moved closer, perching himself on the countertop next to where you were pacing back and forth with the bottles. "Well," he drawled, his tone still laced with that cold, distant edge that always seemed to surround him like an icy shroud, "why don't you tell me what happened, huh?"

There was a long moment of silence as their eyes met before he spoke again: "Unless it's none of my business." The words were tossed out casually, almost mockingly, but there was something beneath the surface that made him seem slightly curious despite his attempts at indifference.

Taylor took the offered bottle and held it up to his lips, taking a long swig before passing it back to you. "That fuckin' sucks," he muttered, almost sounding sympathetic for once as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes narrowed as they remained fixed on yours, and there was something in that gaze... something strange that made your stomach flutter a bit uncomfortably.

"You deserve better," he grumbled eventually, finishing off what little remained in the bottle. "But I guess we both knew that bastard would end up like this someday." There was another long silence as Taylor once again contemplated his feelings for you... or lack thereof. This time, though, it felt different somehow; more real than usual.

He scratched at the back of his neck and shifted uncomfortably before finally speaking up: "I guess if he's not worth your time..." His voice trailed off into nothingness as he searched for words that wouldn't come out sounding forced or fake, but they just didn't seem to exist tonight.

"So," he said eventually, trying a different approach, "what are you gonna do about it?"

Taylor snorted in amusement as you made your rather crude and undoubtedly specific choice. "And just who might be lucky enough to have the honor of being the object of such a... generous offer?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. There was no jealousy or anger in his voice; only curiosity and perhaps a hint of amusement at your surprisingly blunt response.

He looked you over once more, taking in the way your eyes sparkled with mischief when you talked about having sex, the slight flush on your cheeks from both alcohol and conversation. A part of him wondered what it would be like to be that person... if he could ever make you feel as good as someone else apparently could.

"Well," he drawled eventually, his tone laced with indifference and sarcasm again, "it doesn't really matter who it is anyway. They'll just end up hurting you in the end." His words came out harsher than intended, but they lingered nonetheless as he watched your expression darken for a moment before regaining its usual hostility.

"But I guess if that's what makes you happy..." he muttered, trailing off into nothingness again. The silence was thick between them once more, and he found himself unable to look away from those familiar eyes even as they began to narrow with annoyance at his insistence on being so damn... real?

"You know," he said eventually, attempting a different approach yet again, "you could always come over here. I've got plenty of room in my bed if you want some company tonight." There was no way this would end well; there was just no possible way for it to go anything other than horribly wrong at this point. But still... the offer escaped his lips nonetheless, hanging

The words stung as they left his mouth, and he almost wished he could take them back. But at the same time... there was something about hearing you talk so openly about wanting to have sex that made him feel a strange mix of envy, anger, and... arousal. It was confusing as hell, but there it was nonetheless.

Taylor let out a harsh laugh before looking at you again. "You really think I'd give you good sex after everything we've said to each other?" He shook his head slowly, amused more than annoyed by your apparent naivety. "I mean, sure, it might be fun for me... but not enough to make up for all the shit you put me through over the years."

There was another long silence as their eyes met again, and Taylor found himself struggling to keep his expression neutral. He could feel a strange sort of tension building between them, a charged atmosphere that made him wonder what would happen if... well, if anything actually happened. But he knew better than to cross that line; they were enemies, after all. At least, until one of you decided otherwise.

"Look," he said eventually, breaking the silence and searching for something to say to dispel this strange mood that had descended upon them, "I'm not gonna force anything on you. You can stay here or go back home; it's your choice." His voice was firm but gentle, the words tumbling out in a rush as if he couldn't wait to be done with this awkward conversation and get things back to how they usually were between them: cold, distant, and hateful.

But deep down... a tiny part of him wondered what would happen if you stayed. And whether it would make any difference at all.

Taylor's eyes widened slightly at your unexpectedly direct question, but he quickly regained his composure and tried to look unaffected as he crossed his arms over his chest again. "Big enough," he drawled after a moment's pause, his tone carefully casual despite the heat that was creeping up from his neck and down his spine. He paused for another moment before continuing, a smirk playing around the corners of his mouth as he regarded you with an unreadable expression. "Wanna see?"

He took a step closer to you, their bodies just inches apart now as your eyes met once more. You could almost feel his breath against your cheek as he spoke again: "And yeah," he muttered mockingly, "I know how to use it." His words were laced with arrogance and confidence that made him sound irresistible despite the cold edge they carried.

There was another long moment of silence before Taylor finally broke the tension with a loud huff. "But like I said," he continued, his voice more gentle now as he reached out to cup your cheek with his free hand, "it's up to you. Stay or go... it doesn't matter much to me." The last sentence was barely audible above the soft rush of blood in their ears, but it lingered nonetheless as he waited for your answer, his heart racing faster than ever before despite himself.

The question hung unspoken between them, suspended in the air like a thread connecting two fragile balloons that might pop at any second: What do you want to do?

Taylor let out a small laugh at your playful question as he leaned in closer to you, his body pressed tight against yours now. "Oh," he drawled with a grin, "you really want to see it that bad?" His hand slid from your cheek down to rest on your shoulder, sending a jolt of electricity through both of you. He could feel the heat radiating off your skin where they touched, and it was making his heart race faster than ever before.

The tension between them built with every passing second, their bodies moving in sync as though they were dancing some sort of strange, intimate waltz. Even through the anger and hatred that normally separated them, there was a palpable chemistry here; an attraction so intense it felt almost primal.

He took another slow step closer, his hips grinding against yours as he brought up his other hand to cup your ass, squeezing gently through the fabric of your clothes. "You know," he whispered into your ear, his breath sending shivers down your spine, "I could always show you later... if you're a good girl." His voice was rough and demanding, laced with that commanding authority that made him seem almost irresistible despite the coldness in his eyes.

The silence stretched on as they stood there together, their bodies entwined in this weird dance of desire and aggression. Neither one of them moved away or backed down, even though deep down both knew that this could very well be a terrible idea. But it felt too good to resist.