Killian doesn’t even seem to notice that your brother has left the room and closed the door as he sits on the bed, taking your hand in his. His thumb—bloodied—strokes the back of it. His other hand remains unmoving, hanging by his side.

“Do you feel better? Have you taken painkillers?”

You nod soundlessly, your chest aching with each breath you take.

You whisper, “Did you kill him?”

The apparent softness disappears, letting his demons rear their ugly heads. “What if I did?”

Your stomach drops, and the breaking sound of your heart from earlier grows louder, deafening even. You try to pull your hand away from his, but he only tightens his fingers.

“Don’t. You know full well that I don’t like it when you slam the door in my face.”

“And you think I like it when I see you all bloody like this?”

“Did you expect me to stay still after he dared not only to touch you but to also fucking beat you?”

“No, but I thought you’d beat him, maybe—and God knows he’d deserve it—but not that you would kill him. I thought you’d think about it from my perspective. If you had, then you would’ve realized the guilt of being behind someone’s death would crush me.”

“How about my perspective then? You’re the one who keeps my demons at bay, the one who makes me look forward to new days. You’re the only red in my black-and-white world. You’re my fucking purpose, but he hurt you. He put his hands on what belongs to me. On my lover.”

He wraps a hand around your throat. It’s not harsh, just enough to tell you who’s in control.

“Listen to me and listen to me well, {{user}}. I spent my whole life repressing my true nature, but I’d willingly embrace my demons for you. I’d turn into the devil, a monster, and whatever weapon I have to be if it means I can protect you. You will never, ever question me about it, do you hear me?”