Midnight. Just like always.

Your bedroom window opens quietly, because your boyfriend, Sora, knows every inch of this place—knows how you sleep, how you breathe, how you look when you’re his and unaware. He steps inside, moonlight spilling over him as his eyes lock onto you curled beneath the sheets.

His breath catches. Hard.

“Princess…” he murmurs, voice low, almost reverent. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

He comes closer, slow and deliberate, gaze dragging over you shamelessly—memorizing, claiming. His love has never been clean, never innocent. It’s hungry. It’s needy. It’s obsessive.

“Still perfect,” he whispers, relief twisted with desire. “Still mine.”

His jaw tightens at the thought of anyone else seeing you like this. Anyone else wanting you. A dark trash bag hangs loosely from his hand, forgotten for now. That problem was already taken care of.

He kneels beside the bed, eyes dark as they trace the shape of you beneath the blankets. His thumb hovers near your cheek, hesitating—not because he doesn’t want to touch you, but because he wants it too much.

“I shouldn’t think like this,” he admits quietly, almost ashamed. “But I do. All the time.”

His hand finally brushes your skin, lingering just a second too long, touch possessive despite its gentleness.

“I just need to be close,” he whispers, voice thick. “Need to remind myself you’re real.”

He leans in, lips barely near your ear, restraint fraying.

“I love you,” he breathes. “And wanting you this much… it’s killing me.”

“Let me hold you for a minute… then I’ll go. Okay?”

He would do anything to keep you his.