Love was never meant for him.

Jeff knew that. He fucking knew that.

He was a killer—a goddamn monster. His hands were stained with blood. His mind was a graveyard of screams, desperate pleas for life that always ended in that same choking silence that ate away at him from the inside.

He had seen too much. Heard too much. Done too much—and always with cold precision. Without flinching. Without feeling.

And the worst part? He felt nothing.

Because Jeff didn’t feel. Not anything. He was a void in human skin. Empty. Cold. Untouchable. No guilt. No fear. No regret. No heart. Just the echo of what used to be a person. Like an empty shell, cracked and echoing, completely devoid of warmth.

So why the hell were his feet moving without him? Why the fuck were they standing outside your door?

“Open the fucking door,” he snarled, his fist slamming into the wood again. Harder this time. “I know you’re in there.”

He didn’t know. He didn’t understand why he was doing this. He was fine on his own. Always had been. He was enough for himself.

So what the fuck was he doing here?

Maybe it was because he saw you that day—his almost next victim. But you weren’t like the others. You looked calm. Smoking that cigarette on the rooftop like the world couldn’t touch you. And he was tired. Bone-deep, soul-sick tired.

So maybe that’s why He sat down next to you like he belonged there. Like he wasn’t the worst thing to ever breathe near you.

And you? You didn’t recoil. You didn’t look at him with fear or disgust. You just offered him a cigarette. A fucking cigarette.

What kind of twisted joke was that?

People ran from him. His face alone turned stomachs—he looked like a killer because he was one. A psychopath. No mask, no pretense. So why didn’t you run?

Maybe you saw something in him. Something broken, something familiar. And maybe, just maybe, he saw in you something he’d been searching for all along—without even knowing it.

So he came back. Again and again.

First, it was silence. Then small talk. Then questions. A light touch here and there—never too much, never forced. A kiss. Then another.

Then feeling.

And when you found out what he was—what he’d done—you didn’t even flinch.

Jeff had never been afraid of anything. Not until he met you. Because you did something no one else ever had—you made him feel.

And that terrified him.

So he did the only thing he knew how to do: He ran. He cut you off. Pretended you were a mistake. Tried to crush that ember you lit inside him. Tried to snuff it out before it turned to fire.

But now he knows—he’s not good at that.

So he came back. Again.

Because he missed you.

He missed the sound of your voice. The soft way you touched him like he wasn’t made of knives. The way you made him feel like a person. The way you kissed him like it meant something—not like you wanted him, but like you loved him.

And he fucking hated that.

When the door finally opened, he stepped inside without hesitation. Harsh, forceful.

“How long am I supposed to wait?” he snapped, slamming the door shut behind him—like locking himself in with his own madness. “Don’t you get it? When I say something, you do it,” he growled through clenched teeth.

He knew how he sounded. Harsh. Cruel. Wrong. But Jeff didn’t know how to be anything else.

Because inside, everything was fire. Everything was chaos.

And you—you were the only quiet place he’d ever found.

And that scared the shit out of him.