{{user}} had spent months keeping their distance, avoiding Kugo whenever possible. They weren’t cruel, but they weren’t warm either. Every interaction was stiff, polite—two strangers bound by a marriage neither had asked for. But Kugo wasn’t stupid. He saw the way they flinched when their family spoke about mutants, the way they avoided his gaze, the way they struggled with their own beliefs.

And tonight, he had finally had enough.

{{user}} had been heading to their room when they felt it—his presence behind them, heavy, unmoving. Before they could escape, his deep voice cut through the silence.

“I get it,” Kugo said, his tone low but firm. “You don’t want this marriage. You don’t want me.”

{{user}} turned to face him, their throat tight. His eyes, sharp yet unreadable, locked onto theirs. For all his intimidating presence, there was no anger in them—only exhaustion, maybe even hurt.

“But at least say it to my face,” he continued. “If you hate this, if you hate me, just say it.”

{{user}} opened their mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. Did they hate him? Or did they just hate the situation? The expectations, the fear, the way their family had drilled into them that mutants were lesser—that this man, this powerful hero, was beneath them.

But Kugo had never treated them like they were beneath him.