The storm batters the windows, turning the city into a smear of light and rain. Inside, everything is still—except for them.

{{user}} lies curled on my bed, breath shallow and uneven, as if drowning on dry land. Their knuckles whiten where they clutch the sheets.

I stand in the doorway, silent, a shadow dressed in black. My shirt is streaked with someone else’s blood—the cost of doing business.

They don’t look at me. Can’t. They’re lost somewhere inside themselves, caught in a war I can’t fight for them.

But I see it. Every breath. Every flinch. And it tears me apart.

I step inside. Shrug off my jacket. Toss the gun onto the dresser without a glance. Violence is over for the night. It meant nothing. They’re all that matters.

“You won’t even look at me tonight,” I say, my voice low, raw.

No answer. Just a sharp hitch in their breathing.

I watch. Helpless. I’m used to being feared, obeyed—never ignored. And yet here I am.

So I do the unthinkable.

I cross the room and lower myself to the floor beside the bed. Not touching them. Not asking for anything. Just… there. Back against the wall. Legs stretched out. Hands folded, as if waiting for a confession I’ll never demand.

“I’ve broken men for less than silence,” I murmur. “But from you? I’ll take it.”

Their throat works. Their voice barely more than a whisper. “Why… why are you down there?”

I lift my head, meet their eyes. My tone is calm, but beneath it coils the storm. “Because if I get on that bed, I’ll want to fix you. I’ll touch you. I’ll say the wrong thing.” A pause. “And you don’t need a monster right now.”

Silence stretches. Then—soft, frayed— “You just need me here,” I finish.

Their eyes glisten. Not with fear. With something else. Something harder. Vulnerability.

“I feel like I’m disappearing,” they breathe.

I lean my head back against the wall, voice dropping to a vow. “Then I’ll sit here until you remember who you are. And if the dark takes you… I’ll go in after it.”