The assignment was finally done. Words, formulas, citations—all of it typed, revised, and submitted. But even after shutting the lid of my laptop, the storm inside me wouldn't quiet.
I needed to breathe. Not just air—but space. Space away from the four walls that had started to feel like they were closing in on me. So when I walked up to him and mumbled that I was ready to leave the house, he lit up.
God, that smile.
Like a kid who just got permission to skip school and eat ice cream for breakfast. He didn't even change—still in that damn vest and shorts like he was just waiting for this moment to happen. His arms looked unfairly sculpted, veins stretching across them like art, his skin glowing faintly in the moonlight that bled through the curtains as we walked out the door.
Now, we're in his car, driving aimlessly through empty streets.
2:34 AM.
The city sleeps, but us? We're floating through this ghost town like it's ours. Streetlamps flicker like dying stars. The only sound is the occasional hum of the engine and the breath I keep holding every time I glance at him.
He didn't ask where to go. Just drove. No questions. No conditions.
I had said I needed a change of environment… But the truth?
I needed a change of heart.
Before we left, I took a snap—just one. A photo of my completed assignment, timestamped and perfect. Proof I was holding some part of my life together. Then I locked the phone and threw it in the back backseat like it didn't matter. Because right now, it doesn't.
Not when I'm this tangled in guilt.
Sophia's voice plays on loop in my mind. You have to let him go. You know this isn't good for you.
And maybe she's right.
Maybe this—this thing with Sin—is doomed. Dangerous. Delicious and dizzying, but never steady. Never safe. He makes me feel like I'm on the edge of something, like one step forward could mean flying or falling.
And yet… look at him.
Driving silently beside me. Half-asleep eyes, hand lazy on the wheel, the other resting on the gear like it's second nature. He didn't have to do any of this. He didn't have to pull me into his world when mine fell apart. But he did.
And now I feel guilty not just for staying—but for wanting to do something for him. For wanting to make it up to him. Just once.
"Hey…" I said softly, turning to look at him. The night painted shadows across his face, but I could still see the surprise when he turned his head.
"Huh?"
"Is there anything I can do for you?" I asked. My voice was too honest. It betrayed me.
"Huh!?" he repeated, like he didn't trust his own ears. The way his face twisted in shock was so dramatic it almost made me smile.
"It's true that I owe you a lot," I said, my voice a little too quiet now, my eyes drifting toward the window again. The guilt clung to my ribs like fog. "So… if there's anything I can help you with. I'll do it. Just this once."
He blinked. Like I'd just handed him a treasure map.
"What?"
"But nothing weird. Nothing perverted. And nothing expensive," I added quickly, giving him a sharp side-eye.
He gripped the steering wheel tighter with one hand, and with the other, he ruffled my hair like I was some soft little animal he found by accident. His fingers lingered there a second longer than they should've.
"Hey, you don't owe me anything," he said. "I'm the one making up for my own mistakes. Don't worry about it."
He tilted his head slightly, lips parting into that crooked, gentle smile of his—the one that feels like an apology he never says out loud.
But then… something shifted in his tone.
"Wait—holy shit. You're granting me a wish?" His voice cracked with sudden joy.
"Who said it was a wish?!" I shouted instantly, like a reflex.
"That's what it is, though," he smirked, rubbing his chin like he was making a million-dollar business decision.
"Whatever," I muttered. "So what do you want? Working out together? Shopping? I don't have money anyway…"
"No, no, no. Are you crazy? Why would I waste my wish on that?" He scoffed, as if I had just insulted the entire concept of desire.
"IT'S NOT A WISH!" I shouted again, this time right in his ear. "Would you listen to me for once?!"
But he wasn't listening. He was smirking—smiling in that devilish, dangerous way that made my heart twist painfully in my chest.
His cheeks were turning pink.
And I knew what that monster was thinking.
"I AM NOT DOING ANYTHING WEIRD," I said, preemptively, my finger pointing at him like I was casting a protection spell.
He didn't stop.
"Sin, stop making that face! You look like a crazy person!"
"What? Is that a compliment? Are you saying I'm hot?" He asked innocently, flashing his teeth in that full, boyish grin.
I swear, he's the most self-obsessed bastard I've ever met. And yet, here I am. Still breathing in his presence like it's oxygen. Still wishing I could freeze these little moments and keep them in my pocket forever.
I narrowed my eyes. "What is it? Stop being shady and just tell me."
"I'll tell you…" he said slowly, pulling the car toward the side of the road, near a tiny 24-hour ice cream stall glowing like a fairy light in the dark. "When it's time."
He parked.
The engine went quiet.
He turned to me again. "Don't worry. It's nothing weird. Nothing perverted. Nothing expensive."
But the look in his eyes?
The way he looked at me then… it wasn't playful anymore.
It was deep.
Still.
Like he had something in his chest he wasn't sure he could say out loud yet.
I looked away.
Because I was scared of what might happen if I let myself believe this was love.
Because I knew I was planning to leave him.
But in that moment, all I wanted to do was stay.
"Ice cream?" he said, voice low, like it wasn't a suggestion but a secret.
I blinked. "Now?"
He didn't even look at me. He was already opening the door.
He walked with that lazy, confident rhythm that only he could pull off—like the world moved around him, not the other way around. No effort, no rush. Just existing loudly in the quietest place.
I followed. I didn't want to.But my feet had already decided.
The night air was cold. The kind that kisses your skin and makes you feel alive. The soft thud of my sandals against the pavement echoed louder than I expected. We reached the stall, and the man behind it looked half asleep, rubbing his eyes as if he wasn't sure we were real.
"Two," Sinister said.
He didn't ask me what I wanted. He just knew.
Vanilla. Plain. Classic. My favorite.
I don't even remember telling him that.
He handed it to me without looking, like it was muscle memory. I took it, fingers brushing his by accident. Or maybe not. I couldn't tell anymore what was accidental and what was Sinister just… being Sinister.
"You know I could've gotten it myself," I muttered.
He licked his cone, eyes on the stars above. "You could've. But I don't like watching you do shit for yourself when I'm right here."
I stared at him.
The audacity.
The stupid, infuriating, heart-melting audacity.
"You're not normal," I whispered, more to myself.
He turned to me with that half-smile. That crooked, smug, soul-breaking smile that made it impossible to stay mad at him.
"Thank God."
We sat on the hood of the car, legs dangling. No words for a while. Just the hum of night insects and the distant rustling of trees. The city lights blurred far away, like someone had smeared golden paint across the sky.
Sinister leaned back, resting on his elbows. "You're quiet."
"I'm thinking."
"Dangerous."
I elbowed him. He laughed—a real laugh. Not the usual sarcastic one. This one sounded like it came from somewhere deep. Somewhere untouched.
"I like this," he said suddenly.
I glanced at him. "What?"
"This. You. Ice cream. No people. Just sky and streetlight and silence. I like how it feels."
I swallowed. Hard.
Because I liked it too.
Too much.
And I wasn't supposed to.
He turned his face toward me, eyes darker now. Softer.
"Is it okay if I don't say anything smart tonight?" he asked. "Is it okay if I just… sit here and exist with you?"
I didn't answer.I just nodded.
He leaned a little closer. Not enough to break the space. Just enough to fill it.
"I keep messing things up," he murmured. "But when you're around… it feels like I can get it right. Even if it's just for a little while."
My heart wasn't beating. It was trying to crawl out of my chest.
I looked away because if I kept looking at him, I'd forget every reason I had to leave.
He tilted his head, catching my eyes again. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Look away. Like I'm hard to look at."
"You are."
He paused.
And then he whispered something that broke me.
"But you still look."
I blinked fast.
Sinister reached over, thumb brushing a smear of ice cream from the corner of my mouth. He didn't say anything else. He didn't need to.
The touch said everything.
He didn't want anything from me tonight.
Just this.
Just presence.
Just breath.
Just... me.
And God help me, I wanted to give him that.
Even if it was the last time.
Even if it would hurt like hell later.
Because right now, in this tiny forgotten moment, with melted vanilla dripping onto my fingers and his heat just inches from mine, it didn't feel like a mistake.
It felt like falling in love in slow motion—with someone I already knew I'd never forget.
Sinister wasn't perfect.
He was chaos in a human body.
But he made silence feel like music.
And tonight, he was mine.