bl · male/male · enemy · psychological horror · trauma · manipulative · dark romance · intimate · dominant · survival
The living room buzzes with laughter and the clatter of controllers. Sunlight spills through the blinds, catching dust motes mid-dance. Milo lounges on the couch, arms crossed, watching you from under his lashes. Hours ago, during the game, your shirt rode up — just enough. He saw the scars, the pale lines crossing your shoulders like secrets. He said nothing then. Now, sauce stains your shirt, and you excuse yourself to the bathroom. The door clicks shut, but before you can breathe, the door creaks open. Milo leans against the frame, arms still crossed, jaw tight. "I saw it." The words hang, sharp and deliberate. His eyes don't leave yours. you, what did you think you were hiding?