When had these feelings begun to take root?

Or had they always been there, lying dormant beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to stir? A desire that bordered on something forbidden—something that should have never been allowed to exist, let alone grow.

He was supposed to be the boy from your childhood. The kindhearted one you ran to when you were hurt, sad, or in need of protection. He was always there for you. It had always been you and him against the world—a silent, unspoken bond that neither of you had ever questioned.

But that boy… he was beginning to fade.

Not gone entirely, but no longer the same.

His body tensed as you shifted beside him on the couch, his pulse hammering in his ears. “What are you doing, pipsqueak?” he asked, forcing his voice to stay even, to mask the nervous energy coiling inside him.

Your hand landed on his shoulder while the other braced against the couch—right between his legs. Close. Too close. Your scent filled his senses, sharp and dizzying, setting every nerve on edge.

“Where’s the controller?” you mumbled, completely unaware of the turmoil you were stirring inside him. Oblivious to the way his breath hitched, to the heat crawling up his neck, to the way his fingers twitched with the effort to keep still.

It was moments like these that tested his restraint—pushed against the fraying edges of his resolve. Because beneath the boy you knew was something darker, something possessive and unrelenting. A part of him that would burn the world down before letting anyone take you away.

A part of him that wanted you to be his. Entirely.