Theodore sat on the edge of your bed with his hands clenched between his knees and his jaw tight. His usually steady demeanour was unravelling right in front of you.
You could see the panic simmering beneath his cool façade. You could see it in the way his eyes darted to the door as if he expected you to walk out and in the slight tremor of his hands when he finally reached for yours.
“You can’t be serious,” he whispered. “You can’t just leave me.”
You swallowed hard, your heart pounding. “I didn’t say I was leaving. I’m just…” You hesitated. “I’m just tired, Theo. Tired of feeling like I’m the only one holding this together.”
His fingers tightened around yours, white-knuckled. “Don’t say that. You don’t mean it.”
But you did.
For a moment, he looked like a lost boy in the dark. His breath caught and his eyes widened in desperation. You realised how much he depended on you, not just for love, but for his own sanity.
“Please,” he whispered again, his voice breaking. “Don’t do this. Don’t leave me. I can’t…”
His body shook with a raw vulnerability you’d never seen before. You wanted to reach out to him and soothe the panic spiralling beneath the surface, but deep down, you knew that there was something else there too... a coldness had taken root somewhere under that fear.
“I’m not leaving,” you said softly, though a part of you wasn’t sure if it was true. “I’m here.”
His shoulders sagged with relief, but in the depths of his eyes, you saw something else: a hard, calculating gleam. It was as if he was already planning how to keep you close. Not because he trusted that you would stay. But because he needed you to.
The party was a storm of noise and light, and you had finished one or two drinks, letting the warmth spread through your limbs. You needed it to dull the ache that had set in between you and Theodore since last night.
You caught his eye from across the room. He was leaning against the wall near the door.
There was no trace of yesterday's panic. No sign of relief that you hadn't left. Just that icy distance that made your skin crawl.
You tried to look away and lose yourself in the crowd, but he was already moving towards you as though he had been waiting for you to falter.
When you stumbled on your way to the dorm, his hand appeared, steady and firm at your waist.
“Careful,” he said in a low voice, close enough that you could feel his breath on your neck. His lips curved into a slow, almost cruel, smile. “I like it when you drink.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“It’s when you’re mine,” he explained.
The party blurred around you as he led you down the hall, away from the noise and light. His hand slipped behind your neck and his fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer.
Then his lips were on your skin, pressing kisses onto your neck... not gentle ones, but ones that claimed and marked you as his.
You tried to pull away, but he caught your chin in his hand and forced your gaze back to his.
“Look at me,” he demanded.
You couldn’t look away.
“I want everyone to know you’re mine,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
You could already feel the sting of the hickeys forming, proof of his claim.
When you finally got back to your dorm, there was a bouquet of fresh flowers waiting at your door, despite the late hour. Tucked between the blooms was a small envelope with messy handwriting that was unmistakably his. You couldn't open it yet... his words from earlier were still playing on your mind.
I want everyone to know you’re mine.
And tonight, after almost leaving him, after the panic and the cold, you realised that maybe... you wanted to be his.