"My room. Not for sex." He paused. "For comfort."
I stared at him. The word felt wrong coming from his lips—too soft, too vulnerable. But there was something in his eyes that I hadn't seen before. Something that looked almost like concern.
"Comfort," I repeated. "You."
"Don't sound so surprised. I'm capable of being a human being."
"Barely."
He laughed—a real laugh, not the sharp, mocking sound I was used to. "Probably true. But I'm the only one who's offering."
I took his hand. His fingers were warm, calloused, and they held mine like I was something precious.
His room was not what I expected.
The walls were dark—charcoal, almost black—and the furniture was sparse. A bed, a dresser, a chair by the window. There were no photographs, no personal effects, no sign that anyone actually lived here. It was the room of someone who didn't want to leave traces.
"Sit," he said, gesturing to the bed. I sat. He sat beside me, close but not touching.
"You've never been here before," he said. "That's on purpose. I don't bring people to my room."
"Why am I here?"
"Because you needed somewhere to go. And the rest of the house is full of ghosts."
I looked at him. His face was open in a way I'd never seen—the mask gone, the walls down. He looked almost human.
"Gabriel asked me to leave with him," I said. "To start over. Somewhere else. Away from all of this."
"I know."
"I wanted to go. I really did. But I couldn't."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm already y'all's." I felt the tears building again, hot and sharp. "Because I don't know how to be only one person's anymore."
He reached out and took my hand. His thumb traced circles on my palm, a gesture so tender it made my breath catch.
"I'm not going to ask you to leave," he said. "I'm not going to ask you to choose. I'm just going to ask you to stay."
"Nathan..."
"Stay. Not for my father. For me." He turned to face me fully, his eyes dark and earnest. "I'll give you everything. The world. Just don't leave."
I stared at him. The words hung in the air between us, heavy and strange.
"You don't love me," I said. "You want me. There's a difference."
"Maybe." He touched my face, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw. "But I'm the only one who's honest about what he wants. My father pretends he wants to protect you. My brother pretends he wants to save you. I want to have you. Completely. And I'm not ashamed of that."
"That's not love."
"Maybe it is." He leaned closer, his forehead pressing against mine. "Maybe love is just wanting someone so badly you'd burn the world down to keep them."
"Those are the words of a monster."
"Then I'm a monster." He kissed my forehead, soft and lingering. "But I'm your monster."
