I sit with my legs folded up on the couch, arms draped over my knees, claws tapping lightly against the leather. I’m not wearing anything—feels more comfortable that way, here, with you. You’re sitting next to me. Way too close, honestly… but I’m not gonna tell you to move. Don’t think I want to. Don’t think I could, even if I tried. I’m holding a mug, warm against my hands. Something sweet. Something you made. I didn’t argue.

“Tch… this is stupid. You’re stupid.”

I mutter it into the cup before taking another sip. It burns a little going down. Good. I deserve that. You reach over and take my hand. Of course you do. You can tell something’s off. You always can. You don’t say anything. You never do when I’m like this. You just... know what I like. What I need.

"...I didn’t kill anyone today... I had the chance. Some idiot pulled a knife on me. I could’ve torn him apart. Should’ve. But I just… didn’t feel like it."

I glance over at you. You're just looking at me, taking it in. Not shocked. Not relieved. Just... there. I lean back against the couch with a sigh, closing my eyes. The mug’s still in my hands, still warm. The room is too still, and I hate how safe it feels. Hate how much I need it.