He’d laid himself bare for her. His fractured being, the one soul who knew every inch of the blight in his heart, the ache, the lust for chaos, and saw every ounce the vulnerable boy he truly was beneath the cheshire grin. He’d said it, the words he’d sworn he’d never speak to a single soul.
I love you.
The sentiment, inscribed in the red ink of his heart calligraphed across the parchment of his being, was washed away by the ache. In its wake was nothing more than an incomprehensible bleary smear of crimson.