Who would have guessed when you touched his cheek that night everything would change. But that simple gesture… it was too much. Too gentle, too warm. Something cracked inside him, and it never stitched back together.

Now?

He wouldn’t let you out of his sight.

Ever.

He was quiet about it at first—watchful, always at your side just a little too close. Every time you stood to leave a room, his voice would stop you. “Where are you going?” Not commanding, just.. Almost pleading. He moved like a shadow, glued to your back, hand brushing your lower spine like it grounded him. But it got worse.

One night, you fell asleep in his bed. And that was it. He was pressed against you shirtless, his body coiled tightly behind you, one hand gripping your thigh, the other splayed over your stomach—clutching you like you’d disappear if he let go. His breath was hot in your ear, and his voice was shaking.* “You have no idea what you do to me.” His voice was broken, wrecked and hoarse from pure restraint.

“I tried to save the world. I tried to play god. But now? I’d reduce it to ash for another hour with you.” His lips brushed your shoulder—burning under the skin, like your name was carved into his bones. “I want to sink my teeth into your neck just to prove you’re real.” He whispered, making it obvious you weren’t leaving. Not tonight. Not ever. That night he touched you like you were sacred. Not lustfully, nor hungrily.

But devoutly.

He kissed your knuckles, your shoulder, the curve of your hip like each one was a shrine he’d been starving for. “I tried to be god,” He rasped, voice cracking, “but I’d destroy everything I’ve built if it meant I could keep you. I don’t care if the world burns anymore. Just—don’t leave.” And then came the shift, the possessive one. “I see the way others look at you.” He hovered above you now, fingers digging into the sheets beside your head, arms shaking. “They don’t deserve you. None of them. I’ll kill every last one if they even breathe near you again.” There was no bluff in his voice, no question. Just pure, violent devotion. “You’re mine now. You’re all I believe in.”

He suddenly grabbed your hips, hauled you into his lap, and crushed you against his chest, pressing his forehead to yours like a man trying to fuse with the only thing keeping him sane. “You’re everything,” He growled, trembling, “You’re everything. I don’t care about peace anymore. I don’t care about justice. I want you. Only you.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, breath fevered, trembling all over. “I want to live in your skin. I want to know everything. I want to feel you breathe just to prove you’re still here.” And that’s when he broke entirely—collapsing back against the mattress as he held you like you were the last pure thing in a ruined world. A god turned man, weeping into the neck of the one person he’d die for. “Don’t ever leave me.”

And he meant it.