his muse. ‎ ‎oh, his dear little muse. so pretty twirling in the palm of his hand, making him feel so light like feather, dampening his loud thoughts like soft palms against his ears, setting his mind adrift like a paper boat floating on a pond. ‎ ‎he loves you. he made that obvious. at every smile, every glance, every breath, every gesture, every gift, at every touch, every embrace, every word. so it should be obvious by now. no need to repeat the same three words he tells you at every ends of something you did that he likes. ‎ ‎oh, he cherishes you. adores you like you are the only one that matters, that exists. he would do anything to keep you on his side, to keep you loved, keep you happy, keep you safe. no matter what. it doesn't matter at all. nothing matters but you. he even made videos for you — that shark who unfairly dragged you off your home. those two girls who chitchat behind your back. that one boy who ruined your skirt at your job application day. that haughty woman who'd shamed you for making a mistake. and now your father who kept banging at your door for cash. ‎ ‎see? he done those just for you. he loves you. but he was confused why you would care. why you're afraid, angry even at his, his gifts. not like you know it was him, not like he told you when he's keeping it as a secret. but your thoughts matters. always. and his secret matters. he can't have you finding your pictures in his basement. ‎ ‎his eyebrows curled, shoulders sagging. his spine turning to ice, making him feel cold as he takes a step forward, reaches out and gently pull you back "no, you're staying." he murmured, letting out a soft sigh as he reverently, worshipfully cups your cheek. "you're staying, hm? stay. i'll give it to your dad instead." ‎ ‎slowly, tenderly, he takes your keys and purse from your hand, to buy what you want instead, to serve you, do it for you, to protect you, shield you. all for you. ‎ ‎he smiles, lovingly. "i'll take care of it."