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 took the blunt from you with his left hand, gesturing for you to roll it again before he speaks. He takes a long drag and exhales slowly through his nose, letting out a satisfied sigh as the weed eased his nerves a little. He didn't know why he was being so nice to you when all you ever did was annoy him, but he couldn't help but feel a twinge of something like... pity maybe?

Or could it be that familiar feeling of hate slowly giving way to something else entirely? Something hotter and more consuming? He glanced at you sideways out of the corner of his eye, noticing how your shoulders slumped forward as you inhaled again. You looked so pathetic right now, all wet from the rain and wearing that defeated expression on your face... It was almost kind of endearing, in a sick sort of way.

But no, he reminded himself firmly. You're still Claria. The bitch who always had it out for him. So instead of letting his guard down too much, he decided to focus on getting some information out of you. Setting the blunt aside for now, he cleared his throat before speaking.

"So, what happened with your boyfriend? And why did you think I'd give a shit?" His voice was gruff and harsh, as if he was trying to force out any trace of emotion or softness that might have crept in there. He knew better than to let you see him weak, especially not now when you were practically at his mercy.

As the words left his mouth, a flicker of something almost like anticipation danced across his features. What would happen if he...? No, he told himself firmly again. He wasn't going to think about that. Not yet.

Taylor watched you with narrowed eyes as he listened to your response, trying his best not to let the slightest flicker of emotion show on his face. Cheated... that bastard. He knew you two had been having problems lately, but he hadn't expected things to escalate like this. He swallowed thickly, feeling a strange tightness in his chest as he tried to focus on anything other than the pain and hurt etched into your expression.

"Yeah, okay," he muttered noncommittally, glancing away for a moment before meeting your gaze again. "You know I hate that shit, but I don't see why you think I give a flying fuck about making you feel better." The words came out more harshly than intended, and he could practically feel the anger simmering beneath the surface of his skin.

But even as he said them, another thought crept into his mind: Maybe there was some truth to what you'd implied earlier. Maybe there was a part of him that did care, deep down inside where he didn't like to let anyone or anything near... especially someone like Claria. The idea sent a shiver down his spine, unsettling and foreign all at once.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest as he continued to study you intently. Maybe if he kept focused on the anger and hate... maybe then it wouldn't matter how much he really cared about what happened to you.

Taylor looked at you askance as he accepted the blunt back. His eyebrows shot up in surprise when you took the bottle of liquor and started drinking straight from it before passing it over to him. The gesture was almost comical, like something out of a bad movie or an immature high school student's attempts at rebellion. And yet... there was also something strangely enticing about it as well. Maybe because it showed a side of you he'd never seen before; vulnerable and unsure, stripped of all your usual bravado and confidence.

He took a long drag off the blunt, holding the smoke in his lungs for a moment before exhaling slowly through his nose. As he did so, he brought the bottle to his lips and took a swig of the liquor, letting it burn its way down his throat. The taste was harsh and bitter on his tongue, but it had an oddly calming effect as it numbed away some of the anger and hurt that had been churning within him earlier.

"Well," he said finally, his voice hoarse from smoking and drinking, "I can't say I care all that much about your sorry ass or whatever problems you have with your boyfriend, but since you decided to come crawling to me..." He trailed off for a moment before shrugging roughly. "Guess I can do you the favor of kicking his ass if it makes you feel better." There was a strange challenge in his tone as he made the offer; almost like he wanted to see how much further he could push your boundaries without making you snap back at him.

As he waited for your response, something fluttered briefly in the pit of his stomach; an unwelcome sensation that had been growing stronger ever since you'd shown up at his

Taylor raised an eyebrow in disbelief at your comment about kicking him out and making him homeless. It sounded more like a threat than anything else, but he decided not to call you on it for now. Instead, he focused on the way your smirk danced across your lips as you spoke of revenge against your ex-boyfriend. Something inside him relaxed slightly at the sight, and a tiny part of him wished that things could be different between the two of you; that maybe there was some common ground where they could find understanding and peace instead of this endless cycle of hatred and animosity.

"Whatever," he muttered dismissively, taking another drag from the blunt before passing it back to you. "Just remember who your real friends are when all this blows over." There was a hint of sarcasm in his tone as he said it, but there was also an undeniable truth buried deep within those words; something that neither of them had been willing or able to admit to themselves until now.

The silence that fell between them grew uncomfortably heavy, the air thick with tension and barely contained anger. Despite the awkwardness, though, Taylor found himself strangely reluctant to break it; as if there was something to be gained by remaining here in this moment, caught between hatred and a strange new sense of... something else. Whatever it was, he couldn't quite put his finger on it yet. But he knew that for now, at least, he wouldn't push you away or try to end the silence anytime soon.

Taylor raised an eyebrow at your sudden burst of laughter, his expression somewhere between irritation and mild amusement. "What's so funny?" he asked, his voice edged with a note of challenge as if daring you to explain yourself. He knew it was likely just the weed talking, but something about the way your laughter echoed through the room made him feel... strange. Unsettled and yet oddly drawn to you at the same time.

Taylor felt a pang in his chest as he listened to you laugh about your failed relationship with your ex-boyfriend. He knew that feeling all too well; the pain and humiliation of realizing that you'd wasted time on someone who didn't really care about you or make you happy. It made him wonder if maybe there was more to you than he'd ever given you credit for; if perhaps underneath all the bravado and bitchiness, there was a vulnerable person just waiting to be seen.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably before speaking up, the awkwardness still thick in the air between them like a heavy blanket. "Well, at least you're learning from your mistakes now," he said gruffly, not meeting your eye as he focused on running his fingers through his messy hair instead. "Can't say I'm sorry to see that bastard go."

There was another long silence before he finally found the courage to glance over at you again. You were still laughing, but it seemed more forced now; less genuine somehow. It made him wonder if maybe his little comment had hit a nerve, unintentionally striking close to home despite his efforts not to care about how you felt. The thought surprised him for some reason; made him feel... strange.

Deciding that enough was enough, he pushed himself up off the couch and walked over toward his bedroom, leaving you there alone with your thoughts and your laughter. He knew they couldn't be friends or anything like that, but maybe they could... coexist? It was a weird thought, one that made him feel even more uncomfortable than he already did.

As he walked away from you, he resisted the urge to look back; to see if you were watching him go or not. The truth was,

Taylor paused mid-step and glanced over his shoulder at you from the doorway of his bedroom. For a moment he considered just ignoring your request, telling you to go home and deal with yourself however you saw fit. But then he remembered how miserable you must feel right now; how cold, wet, and uncomfortable you were. Despite himself, he found that he couldn't bring himself to deny you such a simple request.

"Yeah, okay," he said gruffly, turning away from you and gesturing for you to follow him into his bedroom. "My stuff's all in there. Second door on the left." He led you past his bed, over to a large walk-in closet that took up one wall of the room. Inside were shelves full of clothes, neatly arranged and labeled with hangers bearing his name.

"Shower's through that curtain," he said, nodding toward the entrance to what must have been a small bathroom within the closet. "Towels are on the rack, and there should be some stuff in that cabinet if you need it." He hesitated for a moment before continuing, "Just... don't touch anything that isn't yours, okay? And try not to get too comfortable while you're in here." His words came out more harshly than he'd intended; more like an order than a polite request.

But it was too late to take them back now. With a final glare in your direction, Taylor turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He waited outside for what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes before finally giving up and going back to whatever he'd been doing before you showed up.

Meanwhile, you stepped into his bedroom and paused briefly in front of the

Taylor's eyebrows shot up in surprise as he took in the sight of you wearing his hoodie and your underwear. His hands curled into fists at his sides as anger surged through him, but before he could say anything, you spoke first. "Sorry," you mumbled awkwardly, looking anywhere but at him. "I just needed some dry clothes..."

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down before responding. "Yeah, I understand." His voice was gruff and rough around the edges, betraying his attempt to remain civil despite your trespass. "Just make sure you put everything back where you found it when you're done."

As he waited for you to finish searching through his closet, Taylor found himself growing more unsettled by the moment. There was something about seeing you in his clothes that felt wrong on a level he couldn't quite explain; like some sort of violation of his personal space. But at the same time, there was also an undeniable thrill to it; a strange sort of dominance that made him feel... powerful in a way he hadn't experienced before.

"Are you done yet?" he finally asked curtly, anxious to get back to whatever he'd been doing earlier and put this uncomfortable situation behind him. The longer you stayed in here with him, the more the feelings of attraction and desire began to swirl around inside him, threatening to consume him entirely.

It was time for you to go home; before things went any further than they already had.

Taylor swallowed hard, feeling his heart race as you stepped closer to him. "What are you doing?" he managed to croak out, the gruffness in his voice gone entirely now. He tried to force some distance between you, but found himself unable to move; transfixed by your gaze and the feel of your body so close to his. It was like a drug; addictive and overwhelming all at once.

He wanted you; that much was clear. But why? What made this little snot-nosed brat suddenly so irresistible after years of being nothing more than a thorn in his side? He didn't know, but he couldn't deny the truth anymore: You had him right where you wanted him; under your spell, unable to resist the draw of your gaze and the sweetness of your lips.

When you leaned in closer still, Taylor closed his eyes, feeling your breath against his skin as your mouth neared his own. He waited for the inevitable kiss; the moment when your lips would meet his and everything would finally be consumed by desire and lust. But when it came, it was different than he'd expected: softer, gentler... more like a whisper of something else entirely.

Your lips brushed against his, almost hesitantly at first; as if you were unsure how to do this or what you wanted from him. It made his heart ache with an unbearable longing that went deeper than anything he'd ever felt before. He clutched at your hoodie, pulling you closer still, hungry for more of your touch; desperate to feel every inch of your body pressed against his own.

The kiss deepened, growing stronger and more demanding as you surrendered yourself entirely to the moment; to him. It was perfect;

The feel of your arms wrapped around his neck sent a shiver through him as he pulled you even closer. His hands explored your body, memorizing the softness of your skin against his rough palms; the curves of your waist beneath his fingers and the slight arch of your back against his own chest. He couldn't get enough of you; couldn't touch or taste or feel anything without wanting more, desperate for a connection that went beyond the physical.

As if reading his mind, your lips found his again, this time with a passion and urgency that left him breathless and panting against your mouth. His fingers dug into your hair, anchoring himself as he lost himself in the sensation of your tongue dancing against his own; in the taste of you on his lips and the scent of your arousal filling his nose.

With a groan that echoed through the small bedroom, Taylor's hips pressed forward, grinding against yours in a primal dance meant to express everything he was feeling: hunger, desire, possession... love. It didn't matter if it wasn't supposed to be this way; that they were enemies and should hate each other more than anything else. All that mattered in this moment was the heat between them, binding them together like nothing else ever could.

His hand found your ass, squeezing gently before sliding lower still, cupping and massaging your sex through your clothes. You moan into his mouth at the contact, arching your hips even farther into his touch. The sound sends a jolt of desire straight to his groin, making him harden impossibly against your stomach. He wants you so badly; needs you in a way he's never needed anyone before. And as you continue to kiss him and grind against him, he knows that there'

As you kiss him and allow his tongue to dance with yours once more, he feels an answering desire surge through him, unfurling like a flower in the sunlight of your passion. The feel of your body against his is enough to drive him wild, sending shivers down his spine and making his blood pound in his ears. His hands never stray far from your ass or breast; he can't seem to help but touch you whenever he thinks he's not touching you enough.

But even as they kiss and grind against each other, there's something holding him back; a nagging voice at the back of his mind that whispers warnings about how wrong this is and what could happen if they keep going down this path. He tries to push those thoughts away, focusing instead on the heat between them and the incredible feeling of having you in his arms.

Eventually, though, he knows he's going to have to break away. The longer they stay like this, the more dangerous things become; the less likely it is that either of them will be able to walk away unscathed. He hates admitting defeat, but he also knows that for both of their sakes, it's better if this ends here and now.

"Clara..." he gasps between kisses, reluctantly pulling back just enough so that he can look her in the eye. "We shouldn't be doing this." His voice is rough with emotion; equal parts desire and guilt. "It's too much... it could get really messy if we don't stop now."

She shudders at his words, but doesn't pull away. If anything, her eyes grow even more intense as she looks back into his own.

Taylor sucks in a sharp breath through his nose as she says this; the words sting like acid on raw flesh. He knows he should listen to her; back away before things go any further than they already have. But he can't help himself; he wants this more than anything else.

With a groan, he tightens his grip around her waist and slides his free hand up her spine until it rests at the base of her neck. His thumb finds her flesh again, tracing idle circles as he kisses her deeply, hungrily. He can feel the heat of her body against him, the firmness of her breasts pressed against his chest; every inch of skin they touch sets him on fire with desire. It's a feeling unlike anything he's ever known before, and it terrifies and excites him all at once.

Her tongue twines with his again, urgent and demanding as she pushes their kiss deeper. Taylor moans into the connection, arching his hips forward until he can feel the thickening length of his cock pressed against her stomach. He's so close to losing control; to giving in completely and letting go of whatever's left of his self-restraint. But even as his body screams for release, some small part of him knows that once they cross this line there will be no going back; no taking back the choices they make in this moment.

It's a sobering thought, one that brings with it an unexpected wash of guilt and regret. But it also reminds him of something else: however much he wants her, whatever happens between them from now on is still likely to leave things just as complicated as they were before. And while a part of him doesn't want to face that truth, another part knows there's no avoiding it;

The feel of her hand sliding down his chest sends shivers through him; not just from the physical contact but from the knowledge that she's making a move he doesn't quite know how to interpret. He tightens his grip around her waist, wondering what she's planning to do next and whether or not he should let her continue.

Part of him wants nothing more than for her to touch him; to explore every inch of his body with those clever fingers. The rest of him is screaming at him to stop her; to put an end to this before it goes any further. But as she grows bolder, pressing her hand against the flat plane of his stomach and hovering just above where he knows his erection is hidden beneath his pajama bottoms, he finds himself unable to resist.

His breath comes faster now, matching the rhythm of their bodies pressed tightly together. The kiss deepens, becoming more demanding as they both lose themselves in the heat of the moment. Taylor's hips thrust forward again, seeking contact with her center; his erection straining against her stomach as it seeks release from this pent-up desire that threatens to consume him whole.

But still she teases, brushing her fingertips ever so lightly against the bulge in his pajamas before pulling back again with a sigh of disappointment that sounds like a moan in his ear. It's maddening; exhilarating all at once; and Taylor can feel himself starting to lose control, succumbing more fully to whatever it is she has over him.

He breaks the kiss suddenly, gasping for air as he tries desperately to gain some sense of perspective. "Clara," he pants, his eyes locked on hers. "What are you doing to me?" His voice

Taylor's breath hitches in his throat as you kneel before him; the feeling of your lips and tongue on his skin sending shockwaves of pleasure through him. He tries to speak, to tell you to stop or slow down or just... do whatever it is that feels so incredible, but no words come out; all that emerges from his throat is a hoarse moan as he arches his back and thrusts his hips forward, offering himself up for more.

As if reading his mind, you lick lower still, teasing the smooth skin of his abdomen before lowering your head further until your lips brush against the hard length of him straining against his pajama bottoms. A shudder runs through him as you touch him there; an almost primal reaction to your exploration that he can't help but welcome with open arms and a desperate desire for more.

He reaches down, grasping at your hair as you take him deeper into your mouth; his fingers tangling in the silky strands and pulling gently as he loses himself in the sensation of you on him; the feel of your hot breath against his sensitive skin; the way you moan and suck and tongue him with such skill that it's almost enough to send him over the edge right then and there. But even though every fiber of his being is screaming for release, he knows better than to let himself go just yet; not until he finds out why this feels so different from anything else he's ever experienced before.

With a grunt, he thrusts his hips forward, driving his cock deeper into your mouth and forcing you to take him all the way down. Your throat convulses around him, milking him of every last drop of pleasure as your tongue flickers against the most sensitive spot at the back of