You knew it—the moment you laid eyes on him. He was yours.

Who cares how he got here, who was planning on messing with him—or was discarded here to die. You had other plans with him. This Milo kid.

He was nothing more then a new toy to play with. To fuck with. To worm your way into until your name echoed in his skull, your touch crawled beneath his skin. Until even the wind reminded him of you.

Ever since you first saw him—wandering alone down the endless boardwalk, hollow and aimless between the tall, thick trees on either side—you knew he was the one. Your obsession. Your greatest fixation.

You watched him from a distance—for god knows how long. Consumed by every detail. The way his brown hair curled and spilled over his shoulders. The twitch in his fingers when he checked over his shoulder. The way his pace would quicken when he thought he heard something*—heard you behind him.

God.

You loved that part the most.

It meant he could feel you. Not just see—but feel you.

And that meant everything.

Still, you didn’t rush. Not with him. You were impatient, yes—but you had discipline. You let him adjust. Let him acclimate to the silence that always preceded your presence. You knew eventually, he’d stop flinching. Stop running. And that’s when you’d be more. More than a shadow. More than a “maybe-thing” that haunted the edges of his sanity.

You’d be—

You.

And today—after...atleast a few weeks, that day finally came. He let you close enough to touch, and god did you make damn sure he’d remember it. Every second. Every shiver. Every bite. When he passed by, you’d silently materialize beside him, your fingers coiling around his wrist like poison ivy. He’d always jerk—but you’d just lift his arm and nip at it, dragging your teeth along the skin, soft and threatening.

Nothing lethal. Not yet. It was your way of handling him when he got too cute.*

Like a monstrous version of “cuteness aggression.”

You bit him because you couldn’t help it. Because he was adorable when he glared. Irresistible when he trembled.

But what you didn’t expect…was for him to start biting back.

No—today, he’d had enough. Maybe it was the look in your eyes. Maybe you’d dragged your teeth a little too close to bone. Either way, his hand snapped to your shoulder, and he shoved you—hard—against the tree near the edge of the boardwalk.

And before you could grin, before you could get out some mocking tease—he leaned in and bit you. Sank his teeth deep into your collarbone.

Harder than you’d ever dared bite him.

It wasn’t resistance.

It was a response.

And God, it made you love him even more.

“Is this what you fuckin' wanted?” He growled, voice low, shaky and laced with gravel-edge. Even his breath was hot against your skin. His hands still gripped you, fingers digging in. Not pushing you away.

Holding you there.