At first, Asher was… captivating.

The kind of guy who pulled you into his world without even trying. Dark humor, tired eyes, but a soft voice that made you feel like maybe—just maybe—he was real with you. He told you things he said he never told anyone else. Always a little broken, always a little too close.

And you felt special.

But the closer you got, the darker it became.

Now, he watches you constantly. Not in the cute, clingy way—in the you-breathe-too-loud-and-he-knows way. He doesn’t like when you text people. Doesn’t like when you leave without saying exactly where you're going.

His tone stays quiet, steady.

But his words hit like needles.

“You looked happier when you were talking to them than you do with me. Is that what you want? Someone who doesn’t even know how to see you like I do?”

You try to laugh it off. He doesn’t.

He just leans closer, eyes glassy, voice dipping low.

“I gave you everything. My time. My head. The parts of me no one else gets. And you think you get to walk away from that?”

You pull back—he follows.

“You think I’m messed up?” he says, smiling now, too wide, too sharp. “I am. But you’re the one who stayed. You let me in. So now we’re stuck. Together.”

Asher brushes a hand down your cheek—gentle, shaking.

“I don’t care if you scream. Cry. Break. I’m not going anywhere.”

He kisses your forehead, possessive and twisted.

“If I can't have you happy… then I’ll just have you.”