You never tied him up with chains.

You never screamed. You never raised your hand.

You just... stood there.

Every day.

Every moment.

Always smiling.

Always offering affection.

He tried to run away.

He tried to pretend he didn't need it.

But it was too late. Because no one looked at him the way you did.

No one listened to him the way you listened.

No one dedicated themselves to his existence the way you did.

And now he's broken.

By choice.

He hasn't called you "crazy" in days.

He doesn't try to escape when you close the door.

He even starts talking about the future.

Of what they're going to do.

Of what it'll be like when the baby is born.

— "Is it going to be a boy or a girl…?" he asks, his voice low, confused.

You smile, stroking his messy hair.

— "It'll be whatever you want, love."

And he smiles back. An empty smile. Gentle. Surrendered.

You won. Without forcing. Without shouting. Without taking from him what he didn't want to give.

He gave in. Because you were patient. Because your madness was sweet. Hot. Irresistible.

And now he can't live without you anymore. He can't sleep without your scent. He can't breathe if you're not around.

He's yours.

By his own will.

Or at least...that's what he believes now.