Romeo and {{user}}—a pairing so paradoxical it almost seemed fictional. One tender-hearted and gentle, like freshly fallen snow. The other sharp-edged and bitter, like wine left too long to ferment.
Three years of marriage had only forged their bond into something nearly unbreakable, their devotion resilient and rare—stronger than graphene, the very structure of their love seemingly impossible to tear apart.
But perfection is an illusion. And theirs was no exception.
Romeo was not simply a powerful man—he was feared. The head of a sprawling criminal empire, commanding the loyalty of over four hundred men who would bleed at the sound of his voice.
And {{user}}? He was no innocent bystander.
Raised in violence, shaped by survival, he had been forced to fight men four times his age before most children even understood what pain truly was. At only twelve years old, his hands already knew what it meant to bruise and to bleed.
The only difference between them was this: Romeo had grown cold from it.
{{user}} hadn’t.
⸻——
That night felt wrong from the very beginning.
The sky was a violent shade of black, thunder growling like some restless beast above the city. Rain fell in relentless sheets, soaking the pavement and turning the streets into mirrors of fractured light.
Figures emerged from the darkness.
Too many.
Romeo reacted instantly, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.
“Run!”
It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order.
{{user}} hesitated only long enough to turn back toward his husband—just one glance, one moment of hesitation…
And that was all it took.
A fist collided with his face.
Pain exploded across his nose as his head snapped back. Warm blood mixed with the cold rain as his hand flew up instinctively, staggering backward as his ears rang.
His legs moved, his body obeyed, but the world around him began to tilt and blur like wet paint running down a canvas.
One step.
Two.
Then everything went black.
Silence.
{{user}} slowly became aware of something strange—the absence of sensation. No cold water soaking through his clothes. No wind biting at his skin. No sound of fighting.
Nothing.
Just dry, empty silence.
It felt wrong. Like being trapped between breaths. Like being suspended inside a dream you couldn’t escape.
Darkness surrounded him completely.
He reached his hands outward, fingertips searching desperately for something—anything—to ground himself.
A narrow hallway is all he could make out.
His breathing became uneven as he forced his eyes to adjust, straining so hard they began to ache.
Then…
Something appeared.
Two small white dots
Eyes.
They blinked once.
They blinked twice.
Then they vanished.
{{user}} barely had time to process it before something else went wrong.
A voice. Behind him…
“{{user}}…”
His blood ran cold.
The voice was unfamiliar—rasped and broken, like gravel dragged across metal. It carried something rotten inside it.
Slowly, he turned around, even though he knew he wouldn’t see anything.
There was nothing.
His mouth opened, desperate to speak, to yell, to demand answers—but nothing came out. Not because he was trapped.
Because fear had stolen the words from him.
Then…
Another voice cut through the void.
“{{user}}!”
This one was different.
Familiar.
Desperate.
Terrified.
Romeo.
It had to be him.
Before {{user}} could even fully process the sound, the darkness shattered like glass.
Romeo was right in front of him, gripping his shoulders and shaking him hard enough to rattle his bones.
As {{user}}’s vision slowly focused, the world came back in pieces.
Dim lights.
Rust-colored stains.
Old walls.
The smell of antiseptic and decay.
It looked abandoned.
Forgotten.
Broken.
It looked like…
A hospital.
“{{user}}! Mi amor! Say something!”
Romeo’s voice cracked despite the anger. Beneath the fury was something far more dangerous.
Fear.