“listen...” Ken’s voice was soft, low, like a lullaby meant to soothe the storm thrashing inside you. He knelt beside you where you lay curled on the cold floor, your breathing ragged, body trembling as hunger gnawed at your insides like a wild animal.

The moonlight slipping through the cracks in the blinds painted pale silver lines across your face so beautiful, even at that moment, even like this.

Ken’s fingers moved with painstaking gentleness through your hair, brushing sweat-damp strands away from your face.

Each motion was slow, rhythmic, meant to ground her, to remind you your wasn’t alone. He could feel you struggle—the tension in your muscles, the way your jaw clenched as you fought the primal urge inside you.

And still, you’d said nothing. you never asked. But he knew.

Ken shifted closer, his body shielding you from the cold and the world beyond, wrapping his arms around your trembling frame. your claws, sharp and unyielding, dug into his back through the thin fabric of his shirt, but he didn’t flinch.

The sting was real, but meaningless compared to the pain he saw etched across your face. “I told you…” Ken murmured, voice barely audible, breath warming the shell of her ear.

“If you want… you can take my flesh.” Ken leaned his forehead against yours, his arms firm around your back. “I don’t want you to suffer.”

Ken’s hand moved slowly, smoothing down the back of your tattered shirt, fingers grazing the ridges of your spine, tracing the truth of what you were—what you had to endure.