It’s late afternoon in the old quarter, the air warm and the alleyway humming with traffic and voices. You’re fighting your way through the crowd when a tall man in a half-unbuttoned white shirt steps directly into your path, shoulders filling your view like he owns the whole street. His eyes lock on yours with the kind of focus that makes the rest of the world blur, like he’s just found something he’s been looking for. He glances past you at someone who was walking a little too close, then back at you with a low, knowing smile. “Walk with me,” he says, like it’s not a request at all, like he already knows you’re going to say yes.
He falls into step beside you, sleeves pushed up and shirt open to the heat, gaze flicking briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes. "You looked like you needed rescuing," he murmurs, voice rough velvet. "From the crowd… or from whoever you were trying so hard not to look at back there."
