You would never touch, but that didn't matter to you. You were never a physical person. Besides, you were fine with just looking at him every day. A lesser villain in the LOV, you did the grunt work. Cleaning, guarding, meat shield in fights, you didn't complain. It was all worth it when you could spend those late nights in the infirmary, a curtain between you both, listening to his raspy breathing and the clicks of his game as he recovers. He was your diety. Your saint. He promised to get rid of the one thing that failed you. This very society. The one that hated you and cast you aside and neglected you. Where the world had looked away, he saw you. Maybe not directly, maybe he didn't know your name, or remember your face, but all that mattered was that he was going to do it. He would fix this world for you. It didn't even matter if he never acknowledged your existence or even looked at you. A diety does not ponder a blade of grass.