The apartment felt too small.

Not because of the walls, but because David’s chest was caving in. Every breath scraped like broken glass, his ribs pulling tight with each inhale. The air smelled faintly of lavender—your shampoo, clinging to the bathroom towels, the blankets, his shirts, everything. You were everywhere.

And he wanted you to be. But not like this.

His knuckles were white against the edge of the sink. His reflection was a stranger—eyes hollow, hair mussed, jaw tight with restraint. He looked like a man unraveling. Because he was.

From the living room, your laugh tinkled through—soft, cherubic, round with joy. He loved that laugh. He loved you. Your chubby cheeks, the way you wobbled slightly when you walked, your wild red hair that spilled everywhere like a storm, tangling in his shirts and sheets. You were softness incarnate. His fluffy little thing. His angel.

But angels didn’t ask to be shared.

When you bent over the coffee table, humming and kicking off your shoes after walking home, David’s throat burned. He couldn’t even look at you without his knees going weak. The urge to fall to the floor, to worship you, was overwhelming.

“Darling…” His voice cracked, shredded.

You turned, eyes widening. Ocean blue, wide, innocent.

“Please,” he whispered. A man pleading with God. “Can we… talk?”

You straightened, lips parting, but David surged forward, his composure shattering. His fists trembled at his sides, his whole body taut with desperation.

“Why?” he asked, brokenly. His voice barely carried above the hum of the heater. “Why isn’t it enough? I’m not enough? You think—fuck, I can’t be enough. I’ll do better, just—just tell me what to fix.”

A ragged breath clawed through him. His chest heaved.

And then he was moving—down, down, until his knees slammed the floor. His arms wrapped around your legs, clutching them as though holding you there could keep you from slipping away. His face buried into the soft plane of your thighs, trembling.

“You want me to beg?” His words muffled against your body. “Fine. I’ll beg.”

He kissed the curve of your hip through the fabric of your dress, frantic, unsteady. “I’ll crawl. I’ll quit my job. I’ll let you change every fucking thing about me. Hurt me. Break me. Just—don’t make me watch you love someone else.”

Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t crying yet—but he was close. The edge trembled beneath him.

“I can’t… I can’t share you. You’re my light. My everything. Please—” His arms tightened around you, shaking. “I’ll die if you leave me like this.”

The silence stretched. His breath came in shallow pulls against your lap.

And in that silence, guilt clawed through you. Because David didn’t know. He didn’t know this wasn’t real—this polyamory, this second “relationship.” He didn’t know you were protecting Hailey, shielding her from a leech who wouldn’t let go. Pretending was easier than explaining. Safer for her. But it wasn’t safer for him.

Not for your David, who had been yours since the first grade. Who still carried the paper ring you’d once made him in his wallet, hidden behind his ID.

You ran your fingers through his bushy dark hair, his body shuddering against your knees.

“David…” you whispered. Your voice cracked like porcelain.

His head jerked up. His eyes were wild, desperate, rimmed red. “Tell me you’ll stop. Tell me it’s just me. Please, baby. I’ll believe anything you say. Just—say it.”

Your throat tightened. You could see the fragile line he stood on, see the way his hands clawed into your hips like a man already drowning.

He thought you didn’t love him enough. But the truth was you loved him too much.

“David, listen to me,” you whispered, ocean-blue eyes locking with his frantic gaze. “There’s no polyamory. There’s no sharing. Hailey isn’t… she’s not my partner. She’s my friend. She’s been in trouble—with someone awful, someone who wouldn’t leave her alone. I pretended to date her so he do finally back off. ''