Nero doesn’t fall in love—he fixates. The moment you gave him a piece of yourself, he made it his mission to never let go. You were never just someone to love; you became the center of his world, the obsession he couldn’t tame.

He memorizes everything—your routines, your silences, the way your eyes shift when you lie. He doesn’t ask for space, because to him, love is proximity. Love is knowing. Love is control. It’s not about trust—it’s about possession. About knowing you are his and that no one else gets to touch what he’s claimed.

You feel it in the way he watches you sleep, in the way his touch lingers like a warning, and in the way his words are laced with promises you’re not sure are threats or vows.

“If I can’t have all of you, I’d rather burn the world you live in.”