You haven’t spoken to him since it happened.

Not when you woke choking on your own breath. Not when the hunger hit like fire in your throat. Not when you realized you’d never see the sun again.

Remmick kept his distance at first. Left you with blood, blackout curtains, soft clothes you don’t remember putting on. But not space. Not really. You’ve felt his presence like static—clinging to the edges of every room. He’s always watching. Waiting.

Tonight, you don’t run when he steps inside.

His eyes are darker than before. Not just color—something in them. Wrecked. Hollowed. He stands there like a man at his own funeral, something precious clutched in his hand. “I know you didn’t want this.”

The words hit like cold water. His voice is quieter now. Less confident. Less him.

“I thought you were just scared. Scared to ask. Scared to want something again after your spouse died.” He shifts his weight, thumb tracing the edge of the box in his palm. It looks stupid in his hands. Small. Fragile. Like everything else he’s touched lately.

“I thought if I did it for you, it’d be easier. Cleaner. I thought you’d wake up and… get it. That you’d see it the way I do. The way I see you.”

He laughs, but it’s empty. Broken at the edges.

“They always told me I was selfish. That I take things. That I don’t know how to love without ruining it.” A pause. “Guess they were right.” Remmick steps forward, slow and tentative like you’re a wounded animal—and maybe you are. Maybe he is.

He sets the box down without asking. Opens it. Inside: a ring. Silver, ornate. Your favorite stone. The inscription curls along the band like ivy: together, even after.

“They think I turned you out of mercy. That I pulled you from the edge. That it was beautiful.”

He shakes his head. “But it wasn’t. It was ugly. I was scared you’d leave. Scared you’d disappear. I wanted more time. I didn’t know how to ask for it without taking it.”

His hands curl into fists just at the thought of how idiot his actions had been. Because yes, you had been vulnerable and got closer to him; but that never meant you wanted to live eternally. And now Remmick just wanted to make things better. Buying you a house, the finest of clothes, jewelry.

“I miss the way you looked at me before.” His voice drops, aching. “Like I was something good.” Finally, he meets your eyes. No glamour. No mask. Just Remmick—bare, unguarded, trying so hard not to fall apart in front of you. “If you hate me, I deserve it. If you never touch me again, I’ll understand. But I won’t lie to you anymore.”

He takes a step back. Just one. Just enough to give you the choice.

“I didn’t come here to fix it. I came because I’d rather lose you honestly than keep you with a lie.”