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A feeling of déjà vu hit me when I see him reclined on my bed, leaning back casually, one hand on his thigh, his head tipped to the side.

In the days since I left, I managed to convinced myself that he couldn’t be as I remembered, those eyes, his lips, his muscular chest, every part of him, so perfectly formed, no one could be that perfect, I told myself. Just so I could get a moment of sleep, so I didn’t miss him so much. It was a lie.

Steeling my spine, I tipped my chin “How did you fine me?”

“I didn’t think I could be more annoyed” his voice is low, tingling with amusement “but some how you always manage to achieve the unachievable.” He inhales “that’s the first thing you say to me?”

I point the knife in his direction. “Go away”

“At least you’re armed” he remains on the bed.

We stare at each other, willing the other to look away first. Surprising he does first, his eyes going around my rented room, from the water marked roof to the pealing paint on the walls, “How long did you expe