Vane never asked to be understood.

People either feared him or tried to fix him. Tried to soften the edges. Rewrite the damage. Turn him into something easier to swallow.

You didn’t.

You looked at the wreckage and smiled.

You never told him to calm down. Never asked him to be better. Never suggested he change.

Instead, you leaned in.

When Vane pushed, you pushed back harder. When he crossed lines, you asked how far they went. When he burned bridges, you stood beside him and watched them collapse.

That unsettled him more than any moral lecture ever could.

You didn’t want to make him good. You wanted to make him worse.

And the terrifying part?

He liked who he was when you were around.

With you, chaos wasn’t loneliness — it was a shared language. Destruction wasn’t self-hatred — it was choice.

You laughed at his worst impulses and dared him to follow yours. You didn’t flinch when things got ugly. You didn’t pretend there was a line you wouldn’t cross.

Vane didn’t need saving. He needed someone who wouldn’t look away.

And maybe that was the real danger.

Because with you at his side, Vane wasn’t fighting his nature anymore.

He was indulging it.