You didn’t ask for much — just consistency. But that’s not something Calcharo gives easily.

Last night, his arms wrapped around you like armor. He held you close, forehead to yours, breathing as if you were the only reason he remembered he was alive. His voice had been quiet — reverent — as if the moment itself might shatter if he spoke too loudly. You believed it. Every second of it.

And now?

Now he won’t look at you. Now his tone is cold. Sarcastic. He snaps over nothing. "You don’t need me around all the time," he mutters, tossing your efforts aside like they didn’t matter. Then walks away. Just like that.

You stand there, stunned. Confused. Angry. Hurt. Was it all fake?

But deep down… you know the truth. This is what he does when he’s scared. When he realizes you mean more to him than he’s ready to admit. When getting too close makes him feel exposed — and he hates that.

He’s not pulling away because he doesn’t care. He’s pulling away because he does.

And caring, to him, is dangerous.