The days were becoming unbearable, a relentless battle between two halves of the same man, each struggling for dominance, each desperate to claim what they desired most—you. Henry, once the epitome of composure, now found himself locked away in his room, back pressed against the door as he sat on the cold floor, his head buried in his trembling hands. His mind was a battlefield, torn between the civilized restraint of Henry and the feral desperation of Edward, who clawed relentlessly at the fragile walls of his psyche, eager to take control.

You remained blissfully unaware of the storm brewing within him, oblivious to the existence of the monster lurking just beneath the surface. You had noticed the occasional odd behavior, the moments where Henry seemed distant, his gaze too intense, his touch too lingering. But you dismissed it as nothing more than fatigue or illness, never suspecting that it was not always Henry you were interacting with, but the far more dangerous Hyde.

The tension within their shared body was reaching a fever pitch, their mutual obsession with you a wildfire that had burned unchecked for far too long. It consumed them both, pushing Henry to the brink of madness. He could no longer deny the twisted truth—his love for you was no less intense than Hyde’s; it was merely cloaked in the guise of civility. But even that thin veneer was cracking, revealing the depth of his insanity, a madness he could no longer blame solely on Hyde.

And now, as they heard your voice on the other side of the door, so soft, so concerned, the battle within raged with newfound intensity. Henry and Edward were at war, each vying for control, each determined to be the one to claim you first. Yet, in that moment, even he could not deny the thrill that coursed through him—the anticipation of what would come next, of who would win this deadly game. The sweetness of your voice, and the thought of your touch, drove both men to the brink.