Dangerously yours

Chapter Five: Luca — I Should Walk Away

I don't usually stay.

That's the rule. I enter, I take what I need — information, control, silence — and I leave before anything has the chance to settle into something real. It's cleaner that way. Safer.

But standing in Elena's doorway, watching her hold that space between letting me in and pushing me out, I realize something I don't like. I'm not thinking about leaving.

She steps back just enough to break the tension, her hand still resting on the door like she might change her mind at any second.

"You're still standing there," she says. Calm, but there's something underneath it. Awareness. Carefulness.

"I'm deciding," I reply.

"About what?"

"If coming in is a mistake." Her lips press together slightly, like she's holding back a response before she lets it go.

"It is," she says.

I almost smile. "Then why are you still holding the door open?"

She exhales softly, shakes her head once.

"I don't know," she admits. "Maybe I'm curious."

The word lands more heavily than it should. Curious. That makes two of us.

I step inside, Her room is nothing like my world. It's smaller. Warmer. Lived in. Books stacked on the table, notes scattered in a way that looks chaotic but isn't — everything has its place, even if it doesn't look like it. A faint scent of something sweet in the air, maybe tea, maybe something she forgot to finish earlier.

Normal. I stand there for a second, just taking it in.

"You're staring," she says from behind me. I glance back.

"Observing," I correct.

"That's not better."

"It's accurate."

She rolls her eyes slightly, closes the door, and walks past me into the room.

"Make yourself uncomfortable," she says, gesturing vaguely toward the couch.

A quiet breath leaves me. Almost a laugh.

"You're not very welcoming."

"I didn't invite you.

"Technically, you did."

"No." She turns to face me. "I left the door open. There's a difference."

I study her for a second. The way she holds her ground so easily, like she doesn't feel the need to adjust herself for me. Unfamiliar. Interesting.

"You do this with everyone?" I ask.

"Do what?"

"Act like you don't care She raises a brow.

"Maybe I just don't." I take a step closer without thinking. Just enough to shift the air between us. "That's not true." She doesn't move.

"Confident again."

"Still accurate."

A pause. Not uncomfortable. Charged. And I hate that I notice it.

I shouldn't be here.

That thought comes back sharper now. Louder. Because the more I stand in this space, the more something shifts in me that I can't control the way I'm used to.

I don't like things I can't control. I don't trust them.

Right now, that includes her.

My gaze drifts briefly to the books behind her. "You study a lot."

She glances back, then shrugs.

"I have to."

"Why?"

It slips out before I think about it. She looks at me differently this time — not defensive, not closed off. Just measured.

"Because I don't have the option not to," she says.

"Everyone has a choice."

She shakes her head. Small. Quiet, "No," she says. "Some people just have better ones."

That lands harder than I expected. Because she's right. And I don't like that I'm seeing it from where she's standing, I move slightly, lean back against the edge of the table. Keeping enough distance to think clearly, Or trying to.

"What about you?" she asks suddenly.

"What about me?"

"You ask a lot of questions," she says. "You don't answer any."

"That's not true."

"It is."

I tilt my head slightly, "What do you want to know?"

She studies me, deciding how far to go.

"Why me?" she says finally. "Out of everyone in that place the other night — why me?"

There it is. The question I've been avoiding. Because I don't have a clean answer, and I don't like not having answers. I could say something easy. Something simple. I don't.

"You didn't look at me the way everyone else does," I say.

Her expression shifts slightly.

"And how does everyone else look at you?"

"Like they already know who I am."

"And I didn't?"

"No."

She folds her arms loosely, leans back a little. "Maybe I just didn't care."

"Exactly."

She blinks once, caught off guard.

"That's not usually a compliment."

"It is from me." A small silence settles between us. Softer now. Less guarded. And that's when I feel it again. That shift. That pull. Something I shouldn't be leaning into.

This is how mistakes start.

Quietly. Not with chaos or obvious danger, but with moments that feel harmless enough to ignore. I've seen it happen. I've watched people lose everything because they let something small turn into something they couldn't control.

I don't make those mistakes.I don't —

"You're thinking again," Elena says.

I look at her.

"Do that a lot?"

"Yes."

"About everything?"

"Important things."Her gaze holds mine.

"And I'm important?"

The question is light. But it isn't. Not really.

I don't answer immediately, because if I do, I'll say something I shouldn't.

Instead, I push off the table, put just enough distance between us to steady myself.

"You're different," I say.

She watches me carefully.

"That's not always a good thing."

"I didn't say it was."

A pause. Then she nods slightly, like she's understood more than I've actually said. "That's what makes this dangerous, isn't it?" she says quietly. I don't ask what she means. I already know. That's the problem. I should leave.

I know it. I feel it in the way my instincts keep pushing at me, reminding me of everything I've learned, everything I've survived by not getting attached to things I can't control.

But my feet don't move. And that's when it hits me. Clear. Unavoidable. This isn't curiosity anymore. It hasn't been for a while.

If I stay, it's only going to get worse. Elena shifts slightly, watching me like she's waiting. For a decision. A move. Something. I meet her gaze, steady, controlled — even if I don't feel it.

"You're right," I say quietly.

"About what?" she asks, "This isn't safe."

Her expression doesn't change. But I see it. That flicker.

"Then why are you still here?" she asks.

I hold her gaze for a second longer than I should. Long enough to know I'm already making the wrong choice. "Because I don't want to leave."

And that — That's the first honest mistake I make.