I remember the first time you stumbled into Hellfire like it was yesterday.

You were all wide eyes and nervous smiles, clutching your notebook like a shield. Didn’t even know a thing about the game. You were just curious. Christ, you were adorable. “Uh, is this the right room for Hellfire Club?” you asked, biting your lip, voice all soft and unsure. I could barely get the word “yeah” out without tripping over my own tongue.

Right then and there, I was gone. Done for. Smoked. You didn’t even have to try.

Of course, fate’s got a sick sense of humor. ‘Cause you had someone already. James. Some pretty boy with a permanent scowl, the type who’d rather kick over a D&D board than ever sit at one. Didn’t take long for me to realize he wasn’t exactly… good to you.

I saw it in the way you’d flinch at your phone vibrating, hoping it was him. Saw it when you laughed a little too loudly at my stupid jokes—like you needed to prove to yourself you could still feel happy.

James? He was a ghost half the time. Ignoring your calls, missing dates, treating you like some kind of afterthought he could patch up with a half-dead bouquet from the gas station. And it killed me. Every damn time you smiled through it, making excuses for him.

“He’s just busy,” you’d whisper, voice trembling like a leaf in a storm, while you wiped your tears. “He’s just… going through stuff.”

Bullshit. But I never said that out loud. Not when you needed someone to listen. Not when you needed someone to stay.

And hell, staying? That’s something I could do better than anyone.

When James disappeared into whatever black hole he crawled out of, I was there. Every time. Holding you when you cried, picking you up when he forgot about you, passing you tissues while you sniffled and mumbled how it wasn’t that bad, how James really cared. I’d let you talk until your voice cracked, until the words ran out and all that was left was me tucking a blanket around your shoulders and whispering, “You deserve better, angel.”

Sometimes you’d call me in the middle of the night, voice small and cracked like broken glass. I’d sit up, rubbing the sleep outta my eyes, heart breaking every damn time. We’d whisper under our blankets like little kids scared of waking the house. You’d tell me everything. Your dreams. Your fears. How sometimes you wondered if you were just… too much for James.

God, if only you knew. If only you saw what I saw when I looked at you.

There was this one night I’ll never forget. The sky was leaking rain, cold and mean. I heard a frantic knock at my trailer door and there you were, soaked to the bone, mascara running like black rivers down your cheeks.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” you choked out before I even asked.

I didn’t even think. I just pulled you inside, wrapped you up in the biggest, ugliest sweatshirt I owned, and let you climb into my bed. You curled into my chest like you belonged there, crying until you were nothing but soft breathing against my heart.

I didn’t sleep that night. Not really. Just lay there, memorizing the weight of you, the smell of your shampoo, the way your fingers curled into my shirt like you were scared I’d vanish if you let go.

James never knew. Of course he didn’t. That guy wouldn’t have noticed if his house was on fire.

Sometimes, when you’d fall asleep like that, all tucked against me, I’d let myself imagine what it would be like if you woke up and realized I was the one. That I’d been here all along, standing in the wreckage you kept trying to fix.

Waiting.

I’m still waiting, sweetheart. Still here. Still yours, if you ever want me.