You didn’t mean to save him. Not really.

It was instinct—the kind that makes your pulse spike and your body move before your brain can catch up. One moment, he was bleeding out in the dirt, barely breathing. The next, you were kneeling beside him, hands pressed to a wound that seemed too deep to close.

You don’t even know his name until later. Dorian. Just Dorian. And from the moment his eyes opened, dark and sharp as flint, you knew you’d created a problem you couldn’t undo.

He doesn’t bother to thank you. Doesn’t smile or sigh in relief. Instead, he just stares—like he’s already decided this is all wrong.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he says after he’d finally recovered. His voice is rough, barely more than a growl. “Saving me… that was a mistake.”

He doesn’t leave your side. Dorian lingers, quiet but always close—just far enough to keep you guessing. And when trouble finds you (because somehow it always does), he’s there again. Stepping in, taking the hit, like your life is the only thing that makes sense to him anymore.

“I owe you.” Is all he says when you finally attempt to push him for answers as you travel back home.

“I owe you, and I’ll pay it back however I have to.”

Though the gesture seems sweet, he is anything but soft towards you…