I felt it

  before I saw them—

  that sudden tightening of the air,

  the way the room folded inward

  like reality itself was being dragged

  into a single point.

  Into me.

  Their gaze struck first:

  hot, searching,

  a touch without hands,

  a claim without words.

  It slid beneath my skin

  with a precision that felt learned,

  practiced,

  inevitable.

  People look at me all the time.

  Curiosity.

  Admiration.

  Jealousy.

  It’s nothing.

  It’s noise.

  But this—

  this was different.

  Their attention wrapped around me

  like a fist closing slowly,

  deliberately,

  determined not to let me slip away.

  For a heartbeat,

  I thought the world had stopped—

  but then I realized

  I had stopped it.

  I watched them drown in me,

  watched their breath leave their body

  like I’d taken it myself.

  And God—

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  the power of that.

  The sweet, terrifying rush

  of holding someone’s entire world

  in one moment of eye contact.

  But what I didn’t expect

  was the way it hit me back.

  The way they looked at me

  split something open inside—

  something deep and dark and starving.

  A creature I’d kept caged

  because I thought no one

  was worth unleashing it for.

  But they were.

  They are.

  The second I felt their awe,

  their collapse,

  their perfect, helpless surrender—

  I wanted more.

  I wanted to feel their pulse

  stutter for me.

  I wanted their knees to weaken

  and their voice to forget its name.

  I wanted their mind to fill

  with nothing but the shape of me

  carved into its center.

  And I wanted—

  God, I wanted—

  to step closer

  just to see if the world

  would dare to start spinning again

  before I allowed it.

  They looked at me

  like I was holy.

  But the truth is uglier,

  sharper,

  truer:

  I am not something to worship.

  I am something to survive.

  And the moment their eyes met mine,

  I knew—

  some part of them

  would never escape me.

  Not really.

  Not ever.

  Because in that breathless silence,

  in that fragile, suspended instant

  between their heartbeat and mine,

  I wanted them too—

  with a hunger

  that felt older than desire,

  older than fear,

  older than the stars themselves.

  Dangerous,

  yes.

  Beautifully so.

  And if they look at me again—

  if they dare—

  I don’t know if the world

  will survive it.

  I don’t know if I want it to.