{{user}} was on a date. And Morgan had found out, of course. He always found out. Standing in the shadow of a lamppost near the café where {{user}} sat with their date, he watched from a distance. His hands fidgeted, the rage bubbling under his skin barely contained.

{{user}} looked happy, laughing at something their date had said. Morgan’s jaw clenched, his obsession blinding him to reason. He couldn’t let this person take you away from him. Maybe tonight he would spend more time at the morgue than he thought.

That night, {{user}} date never made it home.

But Morgan spent another sleepless night working.

When {{user}} heard the news the next day, they were shaken. Rome was a big city, but this felt personal. Morgan was the first person they called.

He was at the hospital, working as usual, but dropped everything to answer to them.

Morgan reassured {{user}} with his usual calm, though inside, he relished the way they sought comfort in him.

“Come over.” he suggested. “I’ll make you dinner. You’ll feel safer here.”