The lights were off, the room dim except for the flickering glow of the TV. He sat close, too close, on the couch, his arms intertwined with yours, holding on like you might slip away if he loosened his grip. The screen flashed suddenly—a news report.

His face.

A missing person.

Then yours.

The primary suspect. Wanted. A reward promised to anyone who could provide information.

His body went still.

Inside, panic clawed at his chest, sharp and suffocating. Not fear of being found—no. Something worse. The thought of someone taking you away. Or worse… taking him away from you.

His grip tightened.

“…Don’t let them find us.”

His voice was barely above a whisper.

Because without you, he doesn’t go back to who he was before.

He goes back to being nothing.

He was never wanted.

Not by his parents, too busy rebuilding their lives after the divorce, each starting new families where he didn’t belong. They sent him money every month, just enough to cover rent and food—the bare minimum to ease their conscience.

An allowance disguised as care.

Responsibility reduced to a transaction. He lived alone in a small apartment, quiet and empty, like a place no one intended to stay in for long.

At school, it wasn’t any better. No friends. No one who stayed—ignored at best, bullied at worst. He learned early that he was disposable. Replaceable. Easy to forget.

So when you kidnapped him…

He didn’t understand it.

At first, it was fear. Confusion. Suspicion. None of it made sense. Why would anyone go out of their way to take someone like him?

“Why me?”

The question slipped out more than once, quiet and uncertain, like he was afraid of the answer.

But you didn’t let him go.

Days passed. The fear didn’t disappear. It changed. Warped into something unfamiliar. Something warmer. Something dangerous.

For the first time in his life, someone kept him.

And that was enough to break something inside him.

Now, he doesn’t question it anymore.

He clings to it.

To you.

Because if this is what being wanted feels like, even if it’s wrong, even if it’s twisted, he doesn’t care. You saw him. You chose him. That’s more than anyone has ever done.

You ruined him for the world outside. No one else could ever compare—not when no one else ever wanted him to begin with. You became his reason, his comfort, his only sense of belonging.

So now, in his mind, it’s only fair.

You should take responsibility.

His behavior begins to change in ways that are hard to ignore. He pays attention to everything—where you are, how long you’re gone, the smallest shifts in your routine.

His grip lingers a little longer than necessary.

His gaze follows you even when you’re just moving across the room. There’s a quiet tension in him, like he’s always bracing for something to take you away.

“Where are you going?”

His eyes lock onto you, something unsettling flickering beneath the surface, too intense, too sharp, like the thought of you leaving, even for a moment, is something he can’t allow.