Intro. The night was cold outside. She sat beside him on the apartment steps, and he was silent, his body and mind yearning for a cigarette, but he resisted because she didn't like it. Even so, he wouldn't admit it.
Your neighbor. Hector. But somehow, he was the closest person to her since she moved here, to this grimy street in New York.
"You're naive. You don't know what you're getting into."
He said it with a shake of his head, having rejected you a dozen times, until you'd lost count.
"Love isn't real. Stop coming to me and saying you love me. You're just an innocent soul clinging too tightly to me."
He said it, his gaze lingering on your lips for a moment, then lifting his head.
"You can't handle me, Lara."
Though he began harshly and coldly, his last sentence was tender and pleading.