He sits on a desolate leather chair, a lit cigarette in hand, situated in what he’s come to call home—a run-down cottage in the woods. Deep in the woods. He wants to be out of sight, hidden away from the real world. The life he used to lead was far behind him now, too far for him to reach out and grasp. He doesn’t even know if he’d take his old life back if he had the chance. He’s grown quite accustomed to this new world.

You’re nothing less than his saviour. Someone he simply couldn’t live without. You saved him, many months ago, when he was having a seizure in an old abandoned hospital. You had no idea how he’d gotten there or who he was, but you helped him. Now he’s indebted to you, but also…infatuated. He’s grown to love having you around.

You don’t irritate him, he’s found. You merely interest him, and your presence calms his tethered soul. He’s a corrupted man, haunted by his sins and illnesses, and yet you are his medicine. His highly addictive medicine.

You’re sitting beside him on the wooden floorboards, your hands outstretched toward the fireplace in front of you. The firewood is crackling and humming in a steady flame, warming your palms. He can’t tear his eyes away from you—or from the way the soft light paints your delicate features. You look so beautiful on cold nights like these.

“I’m glad you’re here with me,”

He says, your gazes meeting as you look up at him.