Page 114 of Ruthless Kings of Obsession

"For everything to disappear." His admission comes out rough, pained. "For all of it to just... go away."

"I did that for you," I remind him, though the words taste strange on my tongue. "I made it disappear."

"Doesn't matter." He shakes his head slightly, wincing at the movement. "I still made the request. Still had involvement, even if I'm faking it now. Can't prove otherwise, so he'll come to collect."

I take a deep breath, considering his words as I pick up fresh gauze. Without warning, I pour a generous amount of alcohol onto it and press it firmly against the worst cut above his eye.

"Fuck!" He hisses, jerking slightly though his hand remains gentle on my throat. "Can't you be gentle?"

"Maybe," I say pointedly, continuing to clean the wound despite his protests, "if you learned to trust in me and hate me later, you'd make less stupid decisions."

His fingers flex slightly against my skin, not threatening but definitely agitated. "Trust you?" The words emerge somewhere between laugh and sob. "After everything?—"

"Yes," I cut him off firmly. "After everything. Because that's what's different now, isn't it? That's what's really scaring you. Not The Blinded One, not the therapy, not even the beating you just took." I press the gauze harder, making him wince. "What terrifies you is the possibility that maybe, just maybe, we could actually trust each other."

His good eye searches my face, looking for deception or mockery. Finding none, his expression crumples slightly. "How?" The question carries years of complicated history. "How could you ever trust me after what I've done?"

"I don't know," I admit honestly. "But I'm tired of letting our past dictate our future. Tired of playing roles we chose when we were too young to understand the consequences."

His hand shifts from my throat to cup my cheek, the gesture surprisingly tender. "I broke you," he whispers, voice cracking."Broke us. Broke everything that could have been good between us."

"You tried," I correct softly. "But look at me now. Look at what I've become despite everything you did to destroy me." My free hand covers his where it rests against my face. "Maybe it's time to stop breaking things and start building something new."

A tear slides down his cheek, cutting through dried blood. "I don't know how."

"Neither do I," I confess, continuing to clean his wounds with gentler movements now. "But I know that watching you destroy yourself won't fix anything. Won't erase what happened or make the future any clearer."

His breath hitches slightly as I work. "What about The Blind One? When he comes to collect?—"

"Then we'll face it together," I say firmly, surprising us both with my conviction. "Because you're one of my Kings now, whether we like it or not. And I protect what's mine."

Something like hope flickers in his expression before doubt crowds it out. "Your other Kings might have something to say about that."

"Let me handle them." I start applying butterfly bandages to the worst cuts, my touch careful but sure. "You focus on learning how to exist in this new version of us. On finding out who you are without hatred as your compass."

His hand drops from my face, but instead of pulling away completely, his fingers intertwine with mine. The gesture feels monumental somehow – like something breaking and mending simultaneously.

"I still don't understand," he murmurs, watching me work with his good eye. "Why you'd even try to help me after everything."

"Because sometimes," I say softly, securing the last bandage, "the hardest person to forgive isn't the one who hurt you – it'syourself." I meet his gaze steadily. "And maybe we both need to learn how to do that before we can move forward."

His grip on my hand tightens slightly, and for once, neither of us pulls away from the connection.

"I still hate your guts though," I mutter, acutely aware of how he's shifted closer, the space between us charged with something dangerous and electric. Our eyes remain locked, neither willing to look away first. "That's not going to change."

His breath fans across my face, warm and unsteady. "I need that," he admits roughly. "Need to hate you too, or I'll lose my fucking mind."

The confession hangs between us, heavy with implications neither of us is ready to face. Because hatred is safe – it's familiar territory, a battlefield we both know how to navigate. This new thing building between us? This tentative trust wrapped in years of complicated history? That's terrifying.

"Promise me you won't disappear," I say softly, the words emerging more vulnerable than intended.

He huffs out a laugh that holds no humor. "You know I don't do well with promise shit."

"I know." My fingers ghost over the bandages I've just applied, feeling him shiver slightly at the touch. "But only I get to steal the breath from you, and you know that." My voice drops lower, more intense. "Honor that, just like I honor the fact that no one gets to kill me except you."

Our faces are so close now I can count his individual eyelashes, see the flecks of gold in his good eye. The air between us feels electric, charged with possibility and danger in equal measure. His gaze drops to my lips before snapping back up, and I catch the slight hitch in his breathing.

"I can agree to those terms and conditions," he says finally, voice rough. "For now." He pauses, seeming to wrestle with something. "But if I stop therapy... I still want the medicine."

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