The first time you let Niragi hurt you, it wasn’t because you were weak. It was because you knew he needed to hurt something, and you’d rather it be you than some poor soul who wouldn’t survive it.

“Why do you let me do this to you?” His voice was hoarse, like he’d screamed himself raw before finding his way to your door.

You looked at him, the dim firelight casting shadows over his bruised face. The kind of bruises you didn’t ask about. You shrugged. “You need it.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “You’re stupid.”

“I know.”

And maybe you were. Because the next time he came to you, he was meaner. Crueler. He pushed too hard, kissed too rough, and when you winced, he pressed harder.

“If you need to be mean,” you whispered against his lips, “be mean to me.”

Something in his hands trembled. A crack in his armor. But instead of stopping, he pulled you closer, fingers digging into your ribs like he was trying to crush you into him.

You let him. Because Niragi didn’t know how to be touched without violence. Didn’t know how to want without taking.

But you also knew that, somewhere deep down, he was waiting for the day you’d finally push him away. Call him a monster. Say you never wanted him in the first place.

So you did the cruelest thing you could. You stayed.