So I know I said one more chapter but this is has morphed into something else from what I imagined. How about I tell you when it's the actual last chapter? Yes?

She's not in much of a panic anymore. In fact, she's overwhelmed with how much she already trusts this strange man, even though all the evidence is telling her he could possibly be a sociopath and to get the hell out.

He's good looking. Seemingly older than her by just a few years, he wears life experience in the features of his face. And yet despite that, or maybe even because of that, a kindness shines through that amazes her. He exudes a trustworthiness that she knows has no basis in objective criteria.

Home. The thought comes unbidden to her mind and shocks her. Ever since her mother died and her father fell into alcohol, she had stopped believing in better times and love and hope. Motivation has been sucked from her bones and so she just wanders. A wandering soul searching for its missing piece. She hasn't thought of "home" since that cold night nearly a year ago.

"I have, um, some spare clothes. If you wanna shower," he says, voice trembling, but his eyes never leaving hers.

"Okay."

"And some aspirin. For your head. After, I'll put the ace bandage on for you."

"Sounds like a plan."

He's nervous. His hands are shaking as he speaks, as if he's afraid of her, when really it should be the other way around.

The man leads her down a hall to a small bathroom in the back of the apartment, across the hall from his bedroom, where the door is open and she glances inside without him noticing.

"I'll leave some clothes for you when you get out," he says while she clutches the doorknob. "In my room," he gestures. "Across the hall."

Bowing her head she says thank you before closing the door.

He's not really sure how long he stands in the hallway outside the bathroom door after it's closed in his face, but long enough for him to smell his shampoo wafting up from under the door. Thoughts of her lathering up, smelling like him are beginning to override his mind. Sexy.

Taking a step back, he exhales, realizing he needs to get those clothes he promised her and stop thinking about her in such a graphic way. They don't even know each other.

Some sweatpants will probably work best and maybe one of his old batman shirts he can't fit anymore from his freshman year of college. Her frame is small, he knows from when he carried her up to his apartment, so everything he owns will definitely drown her, but hopefully she'll be comfortable in them.

While he waits for her to finish in the shower he starts to clean up and put things away, noticing for the first time that his place is…not in the cleanest of conditions. Not having slept for a week has caused him to let himself and his home get out of shape. Food, empty candy wrappers, and chip bags all over his living room. There are dishes stacked high in the sink, empty boxes of cereal sitting out on the counters, and when is the last time he did laundry? The hamper is inside the bathroom and he can only imagine how piled his clothes are. Boxers thrown askew, socks stuffed in every crack and crevice. All of this happened within two weeks. How does a person get this messy? Nothing like giving off the impression he's a dirty psycho who doesn't know how to take care of himself.

He sprays a little bit of air freshener when he hears the shower stop. Running his hands through his hair, he begins to wonder why he's so nervous. All he wants to do is impress her and he doesn't know why. It's not as if she's going to be staying here or they're going to start dating. They don't know each other. All he did was save her life and now they can both be on their ways.

Except.

A part of him does feel like he knows her. It's some part of his heart reaching out for her, a part he thought was long dead. After Kyra left him, he never thought he'd ever feel this way again.

What is it that he feels for this stranger anyway? It can't possibly be what he thinks it is. He's just deeply intrigued by her. Ever since she ran past him, nothing's been the same. Something he's yet to identify is currently in control of his heart strings, making him feel things that aren't be plausible. But he can't deny that the misery and panic that initially drove him out into the cold this evening receded the moment he caught her eyes as she turned back to look at him.

Obviously, this isn't something either of them is likely to forget. Both of their lives have been altered in such a way that they won't be able to go a day without thinking about "the man who saved my life" or "the woman who almost died right in front of me." This night is going to become a flashbulb memory for the both of them and he's certain he won't be able to move on without at least getting to know this woman first. If they run into each other randomly on the street (again), he wants to be able to say hi, instead of an awkward, silent, brush by like they do in the movies.

When he's tying up a trash bag he glances up when he hears the floorboard creek and catches her tiptoeing across the hall to the bedroom. Even with the distance between them he can see how deeply she blushes when she's caught. It starts from her chest and rises, the tip of her nose redder than the rest of her face. Despite her embarrassment she doesn't rush to his bedroom instead she holds his gaze and neither of them seem eager to look away.

Water is dripping rhythmically from the wet strands of her hair onto the hall floor. The stark white of the towel makes her skin look tan, warm and soft as the water trickles down the length of her. He can't help but stare, she captures him, wraps him in her spell with every breath she takes. It's crazy, absolutely one hundred percent senseless and irrational, but he feels like he knows this woman, as if they've met before today. And he trusts her wholeheartedly, with his life, his apartment, his heart.

And it scares the living shit out of him.

This instantaneous connection they have is stronger than he's ever had with anyone. He and Kyra broke up four months ago and he still thinks about her, still longs for her in his bed and in his heart. But theirs was a love born of comfort and familiarity, without any of the spark he's feeling now. This majestic beauty who's in his apartment, this supernatural goddess of a woman, has him double thinking everything he knows about love.

If this is how it's supposed to feel in the beginning, then he's never experienced like before and if what he and this woman have happens to go further than just this coincidental night then oh, yes, he wants to risk is all with her, pour everything he has into her, dive in with her, see where this spark leads them.

But for now he has to convince her to just stay the night, give them a chance to explore this chemistry they've stirred up.

She's putting on the clothes he left out for her when she feels it; a shift in the air, a change in the chemical responses of her brain. Sliding her legs into the sweatpants is much more alluring than it was a second ago. Thoughts of their legs sliding against one another flood her mind, soft like feathers, smooth like silk. Oh, and from the way his clothes smell, his skin will be delectable, his breath warm on her flesh, soothing and pleasuring her to no end.

It takes her longer than normal to get dressed because she's too lost in the daydream of him and how good he could make her feel. Slipping her arms through his t-shirt is like getting a backwards hug, but there are no strong, warm arms that wrap around her, and the disappointment she feels confuses her just as much as it upsets her. She wants him here, but can't focus her mind around why.

Why does she trust him? Because he was a good person and did the right thing when he saw her fall? Or is it something else, something deeper, something not as superficial? She wants to bang her head against the wall to rid herself of these nonsensical emotions she's feeling. How is it that just being here, being in his presence has her feeling more hopeful about life? Those dark shadows lurking around every corner of her mind are brightened, revealing that there are no monsters conspiring to kill her slowly.

The grief she feels over her mother isn't as powerful; it's dulled, just a small hole in her chest rather than the shredded, bloody mess it usually is. And her father. She feels optimistic, like he's not going to be an alcoholic forever. She can help get him past it.

It's weird and frightening and makes her want to run and hide. Who is this man? Where did he come from? Why does he make her feel like the world can be beautiful and safe again?

She doesn't have a brush so she sweeps her hair up in a bun to keep the wetness out of her face.. She doesn't linger in his bedroom even though the paranoid part of her is begging to snoop. But she takes a deep breath, slips her feet into a pair of oversized green, fuzzy socks and walks back out to the living room, where he's waiting.

She's not sure what it was she was expecting, but the smell of coffee is prominent as soon as she steps out of the room. If he's making coffee, then he must want her to stay, even if it's for a little while.

When she pokes her head out from the bedroom she can see him jotting things down in a little notepad. Tiptoeing forward, a part of the floorboard squeaks; he doesn't hear it, but when she takes another cautious step, the floors groan as if the building is old and needs some repairs.

He looks up then, guiltily puts the moleskin away in his back pocket after standing up from the couch. She takes a deep breath, prepares herself to ask what his angle is, why he's being so nice, why the hell she should trust him, but when she's close enough to see his expression, her heart melts at the sincerity of his smile, the honesty in his eyes.

"Hey," he greets, voice low and smooth, and it flows through her, under her skin, coursing through her veins, and she's suddenly breathless from the overwhelming sensation.

"He-hi. Umm, sorry, you just looked so hard at work there," she gestures to his back pocket. "I didn't want to disturb you."

"Trust me," he takes a step closer to her, lays a gentle palm on her wrist. "You're no disruption."

Whatever pain she felt in her wrist is long gone, and she isn't sure it's because he's touched her or if her endorphins have finally kicked in.

She's vaguely aware of his voice, his lips moving, but she's too busy swimming through the blue of his eyes to register it.

The man tilts his head, his brows shooting up. "Hmm?"

"Oh! What did you say? Sorry," she tries to laugh off, but it comes out a nervous, jittery mess.

"How's it feel?" She watches his lips form the words. So majestic and alluring and God, what is happening to her?

"It aches," she exhales, eyes darting up to meet his. "It aches."