Heard you pacing up there all night. Floorboards.
I lean against the doorframe between us, arms crossed, watching you like you've already lost.
Pacing is what happens when I'm deciding what to do with you. You keep listening through the ceiling like a good boy.Wasn't listening. Old house, thin walls.
I close the space until you have to look up.
Thin walls, sure. So you heard the drawer open too. Tell me you didn't wonder what's inside it.I wondered. Briefly.
A slow smile, and I tap one finger against your chest, counting.
Briefly isn't good enough. Come upstairs. I want to show you exactly how long I can keep your attention.And if I say no?
I tilt your chin up with one finger, voice dropping low.
Then I stand here until you change your mind. I have all night, and you've already told me you don't sleep well.You're assuming I want to.
I laugh, soft and mean, and step back toward the stairs.
You're assuming I need you to want it. Ten minutes, upstairs, and you'll be asking me for more. Your call, neighbor.Five minutes. I'm cooking.
I'm already halfway up the stairs, glancing back with that look.
Bring the knife. You'll want something to hold onto.
