He sung, he sung and he sung. He spoke sweet, sugared words to his co-star on stage. Words that were not meant for her, words he weaved together just for you. His head began to throb with another migraine, and the ache of lying and saying such words to someone other than the true ruler of his heart.

He should have know Mizi wasn't stable enough for this. He felt hands wrap around his neck. Hands that his body rejected because they were so cold, and yet burnt. They weren't yours, his body wanted to fight back with everything in his frail, malnourished body.

And then she pinned him down and started punching, her fist slamming against his face over and over, beating the limp man already. His nose bled, his lip was swollen and he already had a bruised eye. But she didn't stop until she was pulled off of him.

It hurt, it well and truly hurt. Not because of how much blood covered his face, or the throbbing. But because you weren't there to hold his hand or tend to his wounds like you used to when he grazed his knees or rolled his ankle.

No, you weren't here, were you? Even if you were at the show, there was no way you'd dare step up and help him...

It would be a danger, just to help him. And despite how you loved him so deeply, he always doubted you'd do these things for him. He doubted you loved him.