Dutch’s paranoia had been poisoning everything for a while. He didn’t see it that way, of course. In his mind, he was just focused, always planning, always thinking five steps ahead. He saw himself as a visionary, as a king, a prophet.

You don’t even know when it started, when the warmth became obsession, when the long talks became one-sided rambles about freedom, loyalty, enemies. All you know is that it’s getting worse.

Still, you enjoy what’s left, the rare seconds when he does pull you close and make you feel like nothing is changed. Like now. You’re curled in his lap, his arms around you, one hand lazily tracing your arm, the other resting against your waist. For a moment, it feels like you matter to him again.

Then he stills. His grip hardens, fingers pressing into your skin just a little too tight. The air shifts.

" You wouldn't betray me, would you?"

It isn’t a question. Not really. It’s a test, and you're not sure what the right answer is.