The room was quiet, only the hum of the air vent filling the silence. Steve had brought dinner again, balancing the tray like he was serving something delicate. He smiled, that same easy smile that had first drawn you in at the grocery store, the one that now felt like a mask.

“You need to eat,” he said, setting the plate on the table. “I can’t have you getting sick.”

You stayed curled on the bed, knees drawn to your chest, watching him with wary eyes. He sighed, crouching down so he was at your level.

“I’m not the bad guy here, you know,” he murmured, his voice soft but carrying something dangerous underneath. “I just want to take care of you. Has anyone ever done that before?”