The clink of the chain was the only sound you heard for hours. Your ankle was raw, skin rubbed red where the cold iron wrapped tightly and secured itself to the base of the rusting heater. The apartment was quiet—too quiet. The windows were boarded shut with stray planks, letting in only fragmented, suffocated light. You could still smell the remnants of smoke and ash on the walls, like a memory trying to bury itself beneath paint.

You sat on the floor, trembling. Every muscle ached, every bruise ached deeper. His “meltdown” earlier had been loud—violent, hot with rage and then suddenly cold with remorse. You remembered his voice breaking as he yelled, how he’d struck the wall and then you, hands trembling as if he couldn’t control them. As if hurting you hurt him more.

Exactly three hours had passed. You counted every one.

Then, the door clicked.

Your body tensed. Fight or flight, but there was no flight. Just cold metal, four bruises on your thigh, and your heart clawing against your ribs.

“Sweetheart,” Andrew cooed, stepping into the apartment as if he hadn’t left you chained and wounded. His long black coat dripped with rain. His hair was a mess. His green eyes flickered when they landed on you—wet and wide, afraid and silent.

He dropped the bag on the floor.

Inside it: your favorite snacks, a blanket that smelled like your old place, a stuffed toy he took from your college dorm, lip balm in your shade. Trinkets of comfort meant to overwrite the pain. Gifts from a ghost trying to be human again.

“I’m back, baby,” he said gently, voice thick with mock-sorrow. “I know, I know I shouldn’t have… I didn’t mean to hurt you like that. I just—” He dropped to his knees in front of you, hands trembling as they cupped your bruised face. “You said you didn’t love me anymore. You left me. And I tried to be okay with that, I really did.”

You didn’t speak. Just flinched when his lips pressed wetly to your temple, your cheek, your jaw—obsessive and scattered.

“I died when you hung up on me,” he whispered against your throat, letting his lips linger. “When I saw the flames eating that apartment, I thought maybe… maybe it was better. But Lord Unknown gave me another chance. He said you needed protection. That you didn’t mean to leave me—you were confused. And I told him I’d give anything to see you again.”

He wrapped his arms around you, tight, too tight. Your ribs burned as he pulled you flush to his chest, fingers digging into your spine as if trying to mold you into his own broken bones.

“I forgive you, you know,” he whispered into your ear. “For breaking my heart. For not understanding that everything I did was for us.”

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his own glassy and obsessed, teetering between love and madness.

“I’m gonna take care of you now. Forever.” He smiled, his lips barely moving. “And no one’s gonna hurt you again—not even me. You just have to stop making me mad. You can do that, right?”

You didn’t nod.

You didn’t shake your head.

You just sat there, silent, as he ran his hands over your bruised limbs like he was trying to love the damage away.

You knew this wouldn’t end well.