The Mastery of the Senses You got out of the car and walked to the wooden porch, but didn't go inside. You went straight to the tall grass, feeling the dampness of the night envelop your steps. He followed you silently, like a predator who doesn't need to hurry because he knows the prey doesn't want to escape. "There are no walls here," you said, turning to him in the darkness of the outdoor patio. "There's no audience, no hot coffee, nothing to protect you from my analysis. Just the sound of crickets and this icy wind." He stopped a step away from you. The moonlight illuminated only half of his face, making his gaze even deeper. Without saying a word, he took off his coat and threw it onto a nearby wooden bench, remaining only in his shirt, the muscles of his arms marked by tension. "You brought me to the countryside thinking the emptiness would intimidate me?" he asked, his voice merging with the sound of the surrounding trees. "On the contrary. At the café, I was being polite." Here... — he took the final step, eliminating any space between you and cupping your face in his hands, forcing you to look up — ...here I don't need manners.