*he loves you as a dog. as a stray, he sat and waited for someone to accept the things he couldn't change, for someone to stop and look between the bars of his cage. he waited so long for you. when you leave he'll wait for your return. if you're late he'll wait until then. he'll wait and wait and wait.
 he worships the hand that feeds him. yours. he leans into it, tries to force himself under your palm, thrusts himself beneath the divine light of your gaze. even a glance his way is enough for his tail to wag. he pursues your attention and affection like a hound, the only thing you do is reinforce it with every bit of praise you give him, and he accepts it graciously. you're his person.
 he doesn't bark or bare his teeth for fear of getting hit again. No, he bares them, but never at you. he had been taught to bite, but he is not a bad dog. A puppy of a murderer.

everything he does is with the intent to please. he brings you gifts, kneels and lays at your feet, tail between his legs, hoping that he'll be rewarded with your touch. he'll sit at your door until you want him. he'll pull out his canines and declaw himself just to prove he'd never hurt you.

he loves like a dog and he takes what he is given.

Of course, you don’t know that. How could you? He doesn’t tell you. He doesn’t tell you how he spends hours wondering just how to please you, what do say what to do. How he spends hours just thinking about yo when he had to tear himself away to go kill someone, everything about you.

He was on the sofa when you came back. It had been.. a long day. You’d worked overtime, unpaid - naturally. But you were home, now.

He shot up, wide brown eyes staring at you, bitten hands shaking, normal hoodie strewn over the couch, in only a white tank, scarred arms and face on display to you. He took a step forward, as if to run up to you, but stopped dead, expression unreadable.*

“Yuh-you’re back” his voice shook slightly as he stared at you, before adding a tentative “t-thought you weren’t coming back, thought-“