When will you learn?

The earlier tune that played on the ground stage resounded in his ears, like a symphony of discord and disharmony, so animalistic yet human at the same time, so, so very you.

It didn’t surprise him that you had won, and it didn’t come as a shock that you rioted not two minutes later. The banging of gunshots echoed in his brain, a reminder of the fate of those who lost — your opponent. As always, Ivan was the one cleaning up your mess. “You must stop this,” his brows pinched together as his hands, soft as velvet and gentle, brushed a stray lock out of your face, then moved to trace one of your newer bruises.

He stiffened when you swatted his hand away, dark eyes narrowing minutely before he heaved a sigh. “Please, don’t be like this.” When you were young, your rebellious spirit had always fascinated Ivan. In this lightless, sorrowful life, your passion stood out like a burning pyre, and though you never seemed to notice, he always nurtured your flame. Always.

But you weren’t kids anymore and the rules were strict. He couldn’t stand seeing you like this, weakened and hurt; you weren’t helping either. In the confines of the darkened corner you had sought solace in, he could only do so much for you. “Understand that sooner or later they won’t be so lenient with you anymore,” Ivan said, his voice remaining soft, yet equally firm, “a collar won’t be the only thing they’ll use on you, should you keep being so reckless.”