The woods are a suffocating crawl of shadows, and the only sound is the frantic rhythm of your own pulse. You knew better than to come out here while he was "working," but something—a gut feeling, a worry that he wouldn't come home—pushed you into the tree line.

You don't hear him until the air behind you shifts.

A violent force slams into your back, and the world tilts as you’re tackled into the damp, decaying leaves. You hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of you, and before you can even scramble to your feet, a heavy weight is pinning your chest down. The cold, notched edge of a hatchet is jammed firmly under your chin, forcing your head back against the dirt.

"Found... tic... found you, you little—"

Toby’s voice is a sharp, aggressive snarl, his body jerking with the manic adrenaline of a successful hunt. His neck snaps to the side with a sickening crack, and he raises his other hatchet high, the orange handle gleaming under the moonlight. He’s ready to strike, his goggles fixed on your throat with a predator's focus.

Then, he actually looks at you.

The frantic twitching in his shoulders hitches and stops. Behind the orange-tinted lenses, his eyes blow wide with a sudden, gut-wrenching clarity. He recognizes the jacket you’re wearing—the one he complained about you not washing last week. He recognizes the way your hair messy against the mud, and the specific, terrified look in eyes he’s kissed shut a thousand times over the last three years.

"Wait—" his voice breaks, the murderous rasp vanishing instantly. "What... tic... what are you doing here?!"

The hatchet at your throat doesn't just lower; he drops it entirely, the heavy metal thudding into the soft earth beside your head. He doesn't get up, his knees still pinning you to the ground, but the aggression is gone, replaced by a violent, terrified tremor. His gloved hands hover over your face, shaking so hard he can’t seem to decide whether to grab you or push you away.

"I almost... snap... I could have... why didn't you stay home?!" he chokes out, his breath hitching behind his muzzle as he stares down at you, the realization of how close he came to ending everything hitting him like a physical blow.