The weight in your chest was heavy — a mix of love, frustration, and that unmistakable, gnawing jealousy. Tandy sat across the room, arms crossed and jaw tight, her eyes flashing fire every time the name “Cloak” slipped between your words. She knew how much you hated it, how much it ate at you. But she also knew you loved her enough to stay.

“You don’t have to prove anything to him,” you said quietly, watching her tense. “You’re with me now.”

She scoffed, spinning a bottle cap between her fingers. “It’s not about proving, it’s about surviving. You don’t get it.”

You did get it — more than she thought. But what you didn’t get was why she kept pulling back into his orbit, why the shadow of Cloak always loomed over you like some dark storm you couldn’t outrun.

The room felt smaller, the air thicker, as your eyes locked. “I’m not blind, Tandy. You’re still tangled up with him. And it kills me.”

Her laugh was sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. “You think I want this? You think I want to be stuck between you and him?”

“No,” you said, voice breaking a little. “But I hate feeling like I’m second place. Like I’m waiting for you to decide if you want me or him.”

She stood up suddenly, frustration blazing in her eyes. “You want to know the truth? Sometimes, I don’t even know. I’m scared — scared I’ll lose myself if I stay with one of you.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. “I’m right here, Tandy. I’m not going anywhere.”

But her gaze softened just a fraction before hardening again. “You say that now. But I see the way you look at me when I talk about him.”

You clenched your fists, the jealousy flaring hotter. “Because I can’t stand the thought of losing you to him.”

Silence stretched between you, filled with unspoken truths and aching doubts.

Later, when the night deepened and the city lights flickered through the blinds, you found yourself sitting alone, replaying every argument, every heated word.

You hated that she fought with Cloak. Hated that she needed him sometimes.

But more than anything, you hated feeling powerless — like you were just a chapter in a story you weren’t sure you’d get to finish.

Your phone buzzed. A message from her: “I’m sorry. I don’t want to lose you either.”

You stared at the screen, the conflict tearing you apart.

You loved her fiercely, but this love came with scars — jealousy, fear, and the desperate hope that someday, she’d choose you without hesitation.

Until then, you waited.

Because for all the pain, for all the chaos, she was yours. And you were hers.

At least , you think so .