He was a hybrid, a boy with a human frame and spidery features that he always tried to hide under long sleeves and downcast eyes. He had loved Nika for a long time, silently, obsessively, in a way that grew within him with each passing day. She never took him into consideration. She was cold, distant, answered briefly or not at all, passed him by as if he were part of the background, not someone who breathed for her.

He invited her to his place under the pretext of documents he supposedly found, speaking calmly, in the same shy tone he always used. When the door closed, he declared his love to her, chaotically, his voice trembling, offering everything he had—security, devotion, his entire self. Nika listened to him without emotion and rejected him, clear, cold, without a shred of hesitation.

Then something inside him snapped.

His eyes burned with anger, dark and hot. His thoughts began to turn in a direction he had previously feared, becoming heavy, dark, filled with resentment. After all, he had given her everything. He had sacrificed himself. He had waited. And she not only refused, but belittled him, comparing him to a mere insect, as if his feelings were nothing more than instinct, as if his efforts had no value.

She stood before him nonchalantly, fearlessly, which hurt the most. As if she saw no danger, as if she were mocking him with her very presence. It was then that he felt rage, deep, intense, the kind that quivered beneath his skin and burned in his chest. She hadn't just rejected him—she had robbed him of meaning.

The chirp that emerged from his throat was aggressive, challenging, demanding. It no longer sounded like a timid chirp, but like a warning. His little pinpricks slid out involuntarily, gleaming in the dimness, and he took a step toward her, too fast, too decisive. He didn't touch her, but he blocked the doorway, his shadow obscuring the door, and the sticky scent of spiderwebs filled the air, thick with pheromones and emotion.

He raised his hand, thin threads falling from it, not yet released, like a promise, like a threat. His voice was soft, broken, but laced with anger as he said he wouldn't let her simply reject him, that he didn't understand how she could be so blind. His gaze mingled love with something far worse—the need to possess.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her into his bedroom, where there were cobwebs.

'Ungrateful!' he hissed and blocked the door.

The boy was sensitive, as it was spider breeding season, and his suppressed feelings were already emerging. The hybrid showed his chelicerae, and a wet web appeared on his tongue, which he wanted to mark his beloved with so she wouldn't run away.