You mirror him in the ways he mirrors you.

The same path was carved for both of you: a house that never felt like home, reeking of liquor and nicotine, with voices exchanging words of pure vitriol, and hands that only knew how to take, never give.

But there was always a subtle difference—an outcome that set you apart. For him, it was forest floors drenched in autumn leaves and the coppery scent of death, a home built from the sins he could not carry, with walls made of the bones of those whose blood perpetually stained his hands.

And you... your world is softer. Morning light through the curtains, warm sheets, the smell of coffee brewing, books that line the shelves, and a tabby cat that curls up at your feet. You've carved out peace for yourself, a life he sometimes envies.

More often, though, he finds himself puzzled. Why would someone like you choose someone like him?

"I should leave."

It's date night, the two of you nestled among pillows and blankets on the floor. But the warmth of your embrace makes him pull away. He shouldn’t be here, not with you, not like this.