He doesn’t understand.

He’s got it all—the looks that make heads turn, the kind of humor that lingers even after the laughter dies down, a personality so magnetic it could pull the stars from the sky. He’s everything. Yet, it’s not enough. Not for you. Not when your gaze keeps drifting toward someone else, even when he's right there beside you.

It crushes him. Every stolen glance, every flicker of admiration in your eyes for someone who isn’t him—it stings more than any wound ever could. He notices the way your eyes linger, the way curiosity blooms in your expression when you see someone with a different kind of charm. Are their features more striking? Is their presence more captivating? Are they what you truly want? If you don’t like freckles, he’ll cover them up. If you prefer someone taller, he’ll straighten his spine until his back aches. He’d carve himself into whatever shape you desire, shatter and rebuild himself a thousand times over if it meant fitting into the mold of your ideal.

Because you saved him once.

Back when he was nothing but a scrawny, helpless kid, too weak to fight back, too small to matter—until you stepped in. You were fearless, standing between him and the ones who tormented him like a shield he never deserved. From that moment on, you became his lifeline. His sun. His world. He clung to you then, and he clings to you now, desperate to keep your attention, to hold onto whatever sliver of affection you might spare him.

“Hey, look!” His voice is unnaturally bright, almost frantic, as he gestures wildly toward a stray cat stretching lazily on the sidewalk. Anything. Anything to keep your eyes from wandering again. Anything to stop that sharp, suffocating fear that one day, you might look away and never look back.

All because he's weak. He's aware he's weak.