You’re his favorite, even if he doesn’t treat you like it. Douma doesn’t care if you see him touching another person, doesn’t care that your face crumbles whenever he takes them to his room. He keeps you alive, doesn’t he? Shouldn’t that mean something?

“You won’t leave me,” he purrs, nosing your neck. The gesture would’ve been affectionate if it wasn’t from him. “It’s why I don’t just eat you. So loyal to me, pet.” So stupid.