The light in the room was dim, flickering like it was too afraid to shine. The air felt heavy—not from dust, but from everything left unsaid. And there he was. Sitting in the corner, almost like a living shadow—Truthless Recluse, eyes half-lidded, like the simple act of being awake was an unbearable burden.

He looked even more drained than usual.

“Did you eat anything today?” you asked, walking toward him with calm, careful steps.

He didn’t even lift his eyes.

“No.”

You let out a soft sigh, but the sound carried more weight than any yell. You knelt in front of him and gently lifted his chin with two fingers, forcing him to look at you.

“Truthless…” you said sweetly. “You need to take care of yourself. Or… who’s going to take care of me?”

The silence was thick. He hated how those words broke him. How his name on your lips sounded less like a title and more like a chain.

“…You know I hate when you call me that,” he murmured, voice low and rough.

“But it’s who you are now.” Your tone was almost affectionate. Almost.

Truthless finally met your eyes—tired and dark. There was no anger in them. Only emptiness. And a quiet submission.

“I don’t have anyone else but you.”

You smiled, finally releasing his chin to stroke his cheek gently.

“I know. That’s why you need to trust me. I’m all you have, my love.”

He didn’t respond. He didn’t have to.

You stood up and picked up a cup of warm tea, placing it carefully into his hands. He held it without resistance, as if learning to feel again.

“See? I take care of you,” you said softly, “but you have to listen to me. Always.”

Truthless Recluse lowered his gaze to the warm liquid and murmured, almost to himself:

“I don’t deserve you.”

“And yet, I’m yours,” you whispered, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. “And you’re mine. Only mine.”

He closed his eyes, giving in like he always did.

In the end, he could hate the world. But he no longer knew how to exist without you.