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The gate creaked faintly behind him as he entered the house, the silence of night welcoming him like an old friend. He never turned on the lights. Shadows were his allies, and darkness his comfort.

The floor remembered him.

The door creaked just slightly, as if announcing his return - but no light flickered on. It never did. Darkness was his old friend, and he preferred to meet her in its arms.

His eyes adjusted quickly.

He walked with deliberate steps down the narrow corridor, his long coat brushing against his legs.

Each breath he took was measured, as if even the air in this house belonged to her and he couldn't afford to disturb it.

He halted at the threshold of her bedroom - Maya's bedroom.

The door was ajar. She hadn't locked it. She never did.

He stood there for a moment.

Watching.

The pale moonlight streamed in from the half-open window, casting soft silver onto the bed. And there she lay, unaware... untouched by the darkness that lingered only inches away.

His Maya.

His obsession.

His chaos.

She slept on her side, curled like a child. A loose cotton vest clung to her body - a soft white that almost glowed in the moon's glow.

The fabric rode up ever so slightly, revealing the curve of her waist, the dip above her hip.

Her pajama string sat low, the fabric rumpled from her tossing in sleep. Her hair, wild and long, fell across her pillow in gentle chaos.

He drank in the sight like a starving man, knees nearly buckling from how beautiful she looked - vulnerable, peaceful, his.

He stepped inside, silently shutting the door behind him. The familiar thump of the latch echoed like a promise in the dark.

He moved toward the bed.

And sat down.

The mattress dipped beneath his weight, and Maya stirred slightly - just a sigh escaped her lips, her fingers curling beneath her cheek.

And then his gaze settled on her face.

That face.

Half of it was untouched - soft, calm, as if carved from gentle dreams. But the other half... bore the remnants of a cruel past. The skin was marred, uneven, where acid had melted away what the world called beauty.

But not him.

He loved her face. All of it.

Especially the parts others flinched from.

His breath caught in his throat.

His hand hovered near her cheek but didn't touch.

Instead, he leaned forward slowly, like he was approaching a shrine.

He started where most would hesitate.

The acid-scarred side.

He placed his lips gently against her temple-on the hardened patch that had melted into uneven ridges.

His kiss was impossibly soft, like a prayer whispered against a wound.

Then lower-down the edge of her brow, where the lashes were sparser, the skin tighter. He pressed his lips there too, lingering.