“It would be better if you died!”

The words tore themselves from your throat—hot, jagged—before your thoughts could stop them. They hung in the air like a curse you couldn’t take back, and the moment they landed, regret slammed into you, hard enough to steal your breath.

Your voice cracked as the silence rushed in around you. Why did I say that?

Eris didn’t flinch. Not even a blink. No anger, no shock—just that unbearable calm he always wore when he was hurting the most. He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, as if the words hadn’t just carved something open between you.

Then he took your trembling hand in his.

Softly—almost reverently—he lifted it to his lips and pressed a kiss to the inside of your wrist, right where faint red marks still lingered from how tightly he’d held you earlier. The touch was gentle enough to ache.

Then he took your other hand. Kissed that one too.

“Eris…” His name slipped from your mouth like a plea, barely there, heavy with guilt and something you refused to name—something terrifyingly close to love.

“Shh…” His whisper brushed warm against your skin. “I deserved it.”

Another kiss. Then another, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

His breath wavered, finally giving him away, even as his hands stayed steady in yours.

“It would be better if I had never been born,” he said quietly. “You’re right.”

“No, I—” Your voice caught, thick and useless, but he didn’t let you finish.

“Everybody thinks that,” he went on, a thin smile breaking at the edges of his mouth. “I know.”

Before you could stop him, he lifted a hand and gently wiped the tears from your cheeks with his thumb, like it was his right—like you hadn’t just shattered him, like he hadn’t been the reason every tear was falling.

“{{user}},” he murmured, so soft it almost hurt.