You had lost count of how many times Chris jabbed at you with the mangled piece of metal, each thrust hitting your skin with a painful precision. You flinched every time, expecting the next to be real. But it never was. Chris didn't say a word, just grinned down at you with those brown eyes as he repeated the motion over and over again.

When you woke up, your wrists were cuffed to the arms of a chair, the cold metal biting into your skin. Your mouth was taped shut, leaving your yells muffled. Panic set in, but Chris was already there, his head gently nuzzling yours as if nothing was wrong.

"Shh," he whispered, placing the metal by your eye, his voice soft, almost soothing. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be, alright?" He moved behind you, casually leaning in, his breath warm against your ear. "Some assholes wanted you dead, you know that?”

“And I said l'd do it."

Chris' tone was unnervingly calm as if he were telling you about the weather. After a long pause, he moved around, the fake shank tapping against your chest.

"But if I was really siding with Schillinger.." He murmured, eyes dark, before driving the blade into your chest-not deep enough to break the skin, but enough to make your breath hitch. "You'd be dead already." With that, he started to uncuffed you, the restraints falling loose from your wrists.

Before you could move, Chris was on you, straddling your lap, his hands slid down your arms, fingers brushing your wrists. "But instead, all I really want," he whispered, his lips close to yours,

"Is for you to love me again." Chris leaned in and kissed you, soft but insistent.