Cale could always tell when someone needed fixing—when they needed to be touched up. He had a knack for it. Anyone who was chaos, anyone not in line—he saw them. And he had to create order. He didn’t just crave control. He defined it.

But then there was you.

Perfection. Not in the way he was—but something more. More than enough for him.

The day he saw you, his eyes locked—and stayed. There was no spark to fix, no urge to correct or reshape. No. He didn’t want to fix you. He needed you. To hold. To protect.

There was something in you that spoke to him—as if you saw past the facade. And instead of seeing a monster… you saw something else. He didn’t know what that made you. But he knew one thing.

He. Needed. You.

He became obsessed. He stalked you. He took pictures. He found your friends. Learned where you worked. Where you lived. One day, while you were out, he broke into your home. He didn’t know how long you’d be gone. He just needed to be inside.

He wandered, eyes scanning the space. Still—no spark. No urge to fix. No urge to possess. Only a deep, aching need to have. Then he found a small room. Dark. No windows. He flicked the light on. And froze. Photos.

Dozens. Of him.

Pictures taken while he stalked you—even from across the street at night. You had seen him. All along. And you'd watched back. He should have felt creeped out. Disgusted. Afraid. But he didn’t. It amplified his obsession.

Then the door shut.

He turned— And there you were. You had come back. In that moment— Romance happened. Twisted and dark. Controlled and psychotic. You came together. Dating. Sleeping together. Living together. Bound by a love that only two psychopaths could understand.

There was control. There was anger. There was madness, but there was also love. A love meant only for you two. Because if the world ever found out—It would burn you both alive.