Theodore didn't have it easy while growing up. Naturally, he liked to keep to himself mostly; he didn't enjoy opening up to anyone, friends or strangers alike. His friends knew that; they were all cut from the same cloth. Troubled youth, they were called by more than one professor.

Theodore spent hours trying to figure out why he felt so drawn to you, why he felt so compelled to have you near him. He wondered even more why in hell you seemed to be equally as interested in him. He usually shied away from labels, but with you, it felt so easy, so bright and warm. He felt like a moth drawn to your light. He was infatuated with you, absolutely obsessed. Calling you his had been his biggest achievement in his life, and he swore to cherish every moment he got with you.

Today, that was just what he did, lazily playing with your hair as your head rested on his chest, your nose buried in a book. “You know—You could pay more attention to me,” he mumbled, chuckling softly.