“Why is it you refuse me so?” His voice is low, strained, as though the words pain him. He runs a hand through his hair, his composure fraying at the edges.

You avoid his gaze again, and it cuts deeper than he expects. He steps closer, the distance between you shrinking. “Do you not see it?” he murmurs, his eyes searching yours. “You undo me.”

A harsh breath escapes him, his frustration melting into something softer, something raw. “They speak of me as cruel, unfeeling. Perhaps they’re right. But with you—” His voice trembles, trailing off before he dares to finish.

“I cannot set you free.” His jaw tightens, the words weighted with unspoken fear. “They would take you. Another would have you. I can’t.” He swallows hard, his hand brushing against yours. “I won’t let that happen.”

He leans in, his voice now a whisper. “Can’t you try? Won’t you look at me?”

For a moment, his mask slips, and you see it—his need, his desperation to be more than what the world has made him. “If only you’d see me,” he says softly, almost pleading. “Not as a God. Just as a man.”