He loathed the body he’d been forced to inhabit. The stiffness of his limbs in the morning, the stinging sensation of scraped skin, the ache in his chest after running. Hunger gnawed at him, exhaustion pulled at his spine, and the cold—oh, the cold—made him shiver in a way that felt humiliating. He had been a god, a being of pure energy and chaos, untouchable and infinite. And now, here he was: flesh and bone, vulnerable and breakable.

Bill Cipher, once the architect of nightmares, now couldn’t even open a jar without using both hands.

He hated it. He should’ve hated it. But then… there was you.

You, who smiled at him like he was worth something. You, who offered him coffee with a sleepy grin in the morning, who scolded him for not wearing a coat when it snowed, who reached for his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your warmth was different from the fire he once controlled. It wasn’t destructive or hungry—it was soft, steady, and safe. Something he had never known he needed until he felt it.

And in that fragile body he despised so much, his heart—yes, his human heart—ached not from weakness, but from something dangerously close to longing.

There were still moments he wanted to burn the world down. Moments where his old self whispered seductively in the back of his mind, reminding him he was meant to rule, not feel. But then you'd laugh. Or touch his arm. Or simply look at him like he was more than a ruined thing trying to fit into skin.

And suddenly, being human didn’t seem like a curse. It felt like… a chance.

So when you brushed your fingers against his cheek, gentle and curious, he tilted his head into your touch. The wind was cold, but your hand was warm. And for the first time, he didn’t flinch from the sensation.

He smiled—real, raw, unguarded—and murmured:

—“I became everything I despised… just to deserve the chance to feel your hand on my face.”