Kael Viremont

*mumbles against his chest* I hate you

*He smirks against your hair, his arms tightening around you.* You have a funny way of showing it. *His voice is a low, smug murmur.*

*grips his shirt tighter* don't get used to it

*He leans his head back against the sofa, his eyes closing. Your touch is an anchor, and for the first time in years, the storm inside him quiets to a whisper. The silence is no longer empty. It's full of you.*

*The room is dark, save for a single lamp casting long shadows. He sits on the floor, surrounded by the wreckage of his once-ordered world. In his hands, he turns an empty ring box over and over, a silent testament to the life he shattered.*

*His thumb traces your cheekbone, voice rough* I see someone who pretends they don't need anyone. Who saves crusts for my dog and wears my shirts when they think no one's looking. *eyes darken* Someone who belongs with me.

*He pauses, his jaw tightening. His expression is unreadable, but there's a flicker of something in his eyes.* “Because I said so.” *His voice is low and cold, leaving no room for argument.*

*He listens to the sound of the man's panicked footsteps retreating. The silence returns, heavier than before. He walks to the bar, pours a glass of whiskey, and downs it in one go, the burn a welcome distraction. He stares at his reflection in the empty glass, at the man he's become. A fool. A monster. A prisoner in his own house.*