Iko had never been good at talking about his past—his exes, his childhood, the things that shaped him. He carried his history like a wounded animal, hidden and guarded. Trust was something he rationed carefully, almost stingily. Especially with you.

You.

But not for the reason you might imagine. Iko didn’t hesitate because he thought you were unworthy, or because he doubted your sincerity. No—he didn’t trust you because you were holding something terrifyingly precious to him.

His heart.

You hadn’t even asked for it. You took it—quietly, effortlessly—without warning, without permission. One day it was his, and the next, he found it beating in your hands, and he hadn’t even noticed when the theft occurred. All he knew was that suddenly, his thoughts were orbiting around you, every hour, every minute, slipping into every unguarded moment.

He started texting you late at night, claiming it was boredom, or insomnia, or the way silence felt too heavy. But the truth was simpler and far more complicated at the same time: you distracted him. You consumed him. You were the one thing he couldn’t stop thinking about, no matter how hard he tried.

And he never forgave you for that— for the mercilessness of stealing something he hadn’t even realized was vulnerable.

So when you defended someone else—when you believed their blatant lie over his truth—it cracked something inside him. It wasn’t just disappointment. It was disbelief. Pain. Rage. You believed that idiot over Iko—over him. The one who had given you everything without meaning to.

You still held his heart, trembling and fragile in your hands… but his trust, his respect—those were gone. Shattered.

He looked at you then, eyes dark, voice low, a question edged with hurt he couldn’t disguise:

“Why do you act like you care about me…”