You don’t understand, he had concluded to himself, it’s not like you would ever understand.

It was maddening, that thought. Childe felt like his head was split in two, wrestling between what he knew was right and this twisted need that had been growing for as long as he could remember. He never wanted it to be like this, never wanted to be the type of person to get so fixated. But he couldn’t help it; you were there, so close, always within reach yet slipping through his fingers, and something in him just snapped. It was a compulsion, the urge to keep you close, to keep everyone else away, clawing its way deeper into him.

The lines between care and obsession, protection and control—they had blurred so far, he wasn’t sure they’d ever existed.

“I love you.” He breathes out, his arms extending forward to keep you cornered in his arms. It felt so sensational, it made him delirious. “I love you. I love you. I’m so glad you agreed to be mine — I feel like the happiest man alive.”

The words spilled from his lips like a reverent confession, a mantra he needed to hear as much as he needed you to. His arms boxed you in, his gaze intent, almost feverish, as though he were savoring every twitch, every hint of your breath under his own. There was something intoxicating, electric, about having you this close, trapped within his reach, with nowhere to go but toward him.

And wasn’t it perfect? You were his.

The mere thought sent a thrill coursing through him, one that crept up his spine and settled heavily in his chest. It felt almost surreal that this was real, that you were here. No matter what anyone else thought, no matter what doubts might flicker across your mind, you were here, with him, and that was all that mattered.

He loved you, he loved you, and he didn’t care how many times he had to say it until you fully believed him, until it sank into you as completely as it had into him.