He was the one thing that never hurt.
The one person who looked at him without calculation, without wanting something back, without seeing the parts of him that had already been broken. Soft where everything else had been sharp. Steady when the rest of the world felt like it was waiting for him to fail.
For a while, that was enough.
Then the quiet started to feel like a hook. The gentleness stopped feeling safe and started feeling like something he needed more of, then more than he should, then more than he could live without. Every soft touch made the want sharper. Every promise that nothing had to change made the obsession worse. The closer they get, the clearer it becomes that the sweetness he was offered was never meant to last—and that he might be the one who ruins it.
He told himself he could keep it.
That he could have this one thing without destroying it.
He was wrong.
Some things taste sweet right up until the moment you realize they’re the only thing keeping you from starving. And by then, it’s already too late to put them down.