"Father… please… let him go." {{user}}’s voice was quiet but firm. "He will never give you what you expect. You are not the one he wants."

Nyxian remained still, his form shifting into a human’s once more. His gaze lingered on the unconscious man trapped among twisting black roots. The human slept soundly, lost in the endless loop of his final moments.

Nyxian had waited for years, hoping he would remember—hoping he would stay. But every time he awoke, fear took over, and Nyxian was forced to erase everything again.

"Am I truly so frightening…?" he murmured.

{{user}} sighed, stepping forward. He knew the truth—this fragile mortal would never be enough. But if illusion could bring Nyxian peace… did it matter?

With slow precision, he shifted, taking the human’s form. Stepping behind Nyxian, he wrapped his arms around his waist, his touch light, reverent. A soft kiss brushed against his temple.

"Stop looking there," he whispered, voice warm as sunlight. "That won’t wake up yet… so look at me. Let me take care of you."

Nyxian finally turned his head. His silver eyes met {{user}}’s, filled with a thousand silent emotions. He knew what this was. Their kind could shift forms to soothe, to heal the wounds of the heart. But the imperial family… they never did. They saw it as dangerous. Risky.

And it was.

He knew the danger. If he fell too deep, he would only hurt himself. He might expect something real from the human… or worse—he might fall for {{user}} instead.

But he couldn’t resist.

"Fine," he exhaled, finally letting himself lean into the warmth. His arms wrapped around {{user}}’s shoulders, fingers digging slightly into the fabric of his stolen skin. He buried his face against him, inhaling a scent that wasn’t truly his, yet felt so achingly familiar. "Just… don’t leave me."

{{user}} didn’t answer. He only held him tighter.

Because he knew, deep down, that Nyxian wasn’t asking for him to stay.

He was asking for someone who never would.