Marcus lived in a quiet part of the city, where the streets were clean and the houses stood far apart. Roselyn followed him inside without speaking. The door closed behind them with a soft click that sounded louder than it should have.
"Make yourself comfortable," Marcus said, loosening his jacket. "I don't get many guests."
Roselyn looked around. The house was neat, almost too neat. Everything had a place, and nothing felt personal. She set her bag down slowly.
"It's nice," she said. "Very calm."
He smiled, pleased. "I like control. Chaos makes me tired."
"I understand that," Roselyn replied gently.
He went to the kitchen and poured wine into two glasses. The red liquid caught the light as he carried one to her.
"Wine helps me talk," he said, handing it over. "I hope that's okay."
She took the glass, their fingers touching briefly. "It's fine," she said. "I like listening."
That made him laugh. "You really are different."
They sat close, not touching, but aware of the space between them. Marcus talked about his work, about stress, about how people only liked him for what he could offer. Roselyn nodded at the right moments.
"It gets lonely," he said quietly. "People don't see me. They just see what I have."
She turned to him then. "That must be hard."
He looked at her as if no one had ever said that to him before.
"You don't judge," he said.
"I don't need to," Roselyn answered.
The wine went down slowly. The air grew warmer. His voice softened.
"You know," Marcus said, "when I saw you at the café, I thought… you looked kind. Like someone who wouldn't use me."
Roselyn held his gaze. "I wouldn't," she said, and the lie rested easily on her tongue.
He reached for her hand. "Is this okay?"
She paused, just long enough to make it feel real. "Yes."
His thumb brushed her skin. He leaned closer.
"You make me feel wanted," he said.
Roselyn smiled faintly. "Everyone wants to feel that way."
They moved together without rushing. The hallway felt narrow, quiet. At his bedroom door, Marcus hesitated.
"If you don't want this, say so," he said.
Roselyn met his eyes. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't."
Later, the room fell silent except for their breathing. Marcus lay beside her, relaxed, satisfied.
"I'm glad you came," he murmured.
Roselyn stared at the ceiling. "So am I," she said, though she wasn't sure why.
When he finally slept, she slipped from the bed and stood by the window. The city lights looked distant, cold. The scent of wine lingered on her skin.
She realized something then.
This was not intimacy.
It was a door—and once opened, it could never be closed the same way again." I love it when people think they are in control"