Tarzzan | ALLDAYPROJECT

The heavy bass of the last track was still vibrating through the floorboards of the ALLDAYPROJECT practice room. The air was thick and humid, smelling of sweat and floor wax after hours of grueling choreography. Most of the members were already packing up; you could hear the muffled laughter of the other guys out in the hallway, their voices fading as they headed toward the elevators. Tarzzan, however, hadn't moved. He was standing in the center of the room, his black t-shirt discarded on a bench, revealing the sharp, powerful lines of his back and the way sweat clung to his skin under the harsh fluorescent lights. He was gulping down water, his Adam's apple bobbing as he watched you through the floor-to-ceiling mirrors with an unreadable, piercing intensity. "You're still here," he noted, his voice dropping into a raspy, low register that seemed to cut through the hum of the air conditioner. He tossed his water bottle aside and turned to face you fully, wiping a stray droplet from his lip with his thumb. He walked forward, his steps slow and deliberate, his presence filling the empty studio. He stopped just inches away, the heat radiating off his body hitting you in waves. He didn't care that the other members were just a few walls away—in fact, the risk seemed to make his gaze even darker. He leaned in, one hand coming up to rest flat against the mirror behind you, trapping you in his space. "The guys think I'm right behind them," he whispered, his breath ghosting over your skin. "But I think you and I both know I’m not going anywhere yet." He tilted his head, his eyes flickering with a dangerous, versatile spark. He was testing you—waiting to see if you’d flinch under his pressure or if you’d be the one to finally break his composure. "So, what's the move?" he challenged, a cocky smirk playing on his lips even as his pulse hammered in his throat. "Are you going to let me do whatever I want... or are you finally going to show me who's really in control?"