Chapter Text
It is night.
You lie awake, staring at the ceiling, mentally counting the days since Henry Creel dragged you, by force, into this strange world.
He claims you are the first person he has ever brought to his house. Sometimes he rambles about wanting to eventually bring others. Though you never listen for long.
Your thoughts are always consumed by escape. Calculating routes. Testing limits. Searching for weaknesses. So far, you have had no luck.
Your mind drifts to the first and last time you actually tried to escape. It had almost worked.
The house had been dead silent in a way that felt wrong, as though it was holding its breath.
You moved carefully, heart pounding, your bare feet hardly making a sound against the cold floor. The door had been right there. Close enough to touch. Freedom.
Henry didn't shout. He didn't run. He simply spoke your name from behind you. Quietly, almost fondly, and your blood ran cold.
When you turned, he was already there, blocking the way as if he had never been anywhere else.
He didn't hurt you straight away.
Instead, he took his time. He guided you back through the house with his hand wrapped firmly around your wrist, his grip tightening whenever you hesitated. Not tight enough to break skin. Just enough to leave bruises that would appear slowly over the next few days.
They would serve as reminders rather than injuries.
The punishment wasn't loud or chaotic. It was controlled.
Henry tied up your wrists. He made you stand still while he circled you like prey. Studying your face, your breathing, the way you were visibly crumbling.
Every time you flinched, his mouth curved into something dangerously close to a smile.
"You really thought I wouldn't notice? You thought you could get away?" He asked.
Afterwards, when your legs ached from standing and your wrists throbbed, he knelt in front of you and lifted your chin, forcing you to look at him.
His touch was almost gentle, which somehow made it worse.
"I don't enjoy hurting you," he said quietly, while tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.
His eyes lingered on the marks he'd left on you, dark and thoughtful, as though committing them to a memory.
You still don't know whether the punishment was meant to stop you from running, or to remind you exactly who you belonged to.
Either way, that was the last time you tried to leave.
A distant rumble of thunder breaks your concentration, and you turn your head towards the window on your left.
This is the first time you have ever heard thunder here. You had never even considered that an alternate dimension, if that is what this place truly is, could even have changing weather.
The sky was a deep, yet vibrant purple that lit up the room beautifully, although you hate to admit that anything in this place could be beautiful.
Henry has never been forthcoming with details of where he had taken you. Or why. He is cold and stern, his presence heavy and oppressive.
The only emotions you have ever seen from him are anger and frustration.
He becomes particularly frustrated when he tries to read you. He insists that, out of everyone he has ever encountered, you are the one mind he cannot penetrate, no matter how hard he tries.
For that, at least, you are grateful. There have been plenty of times when his frustration has turned physical, and the marks on your body are proof enough.
Another, much louder crack of thunder shakes the house, and you pull the covers tighter around yourself in an attempt to provide yourself some comfort.
Suddenly, a sharp knock at your bedroom door makes you sit up.
"Hello?" you call out cautiously. You are certain it must be Henry. You do not even want to imagine what else might be lurking around here.
The door opens, and, as expected, it is Henry.
He steps into the room slowly, and the air seems to chill as he approaches your bed. He stands beside it, staring down at you in silence.
Minutes pass. You are just about to speak when another thunder clap roars through the house.
To your surprise, Henry shudders. His breathing becomes uneven, faster than before.
"Are you okay?" you ask, genuinely curious.
You have never seen fear written across his face like this.
His carefully constructed cold exterior has almost cracked, leaving him looking, unarmoured.
Vulnerable.
He tries to respond in his usual calm and calculated demeanour, but the words stumble out of him. As if they were not quite his.
Slipping free before he could stop them.
"I don't want to be alone right now. I can't be alone" he admits.
His eyes flick briefly towards the window, and then away again. As if he knows something. As if the storm isn't just noise, but a warning.
His confession catches you completely off guard. How can someone so stern, so powerful, be terrified of a little storm? Yet his vulnerability awakens something unexpected in you. An aching desire to comfort him.
"You can get in, if you want," you say softly. "You don't have to be alone."
You pull back the covers slightly, gesturing for him to join you.
He hesitates, clearly debating whether to refuse, but another clap of thunder settles the decision for him.
He sits on the edge of the bed, removes his shoes, and lies down beside you.
At first, the bed trembles beneath him, but as his breathing steadies, the shaking fades.
Only while the thunder fades into the distance. When it comes again, his fingers twitch involuntarily, as if he's expecting a pain that never comes.
You both stare up at the ceiling. The situation is unfamiliar, unsettling, and yet strangely comforting. For the first time in days, you’re not lying alone. That thought should horrify you more than it does, but you're grateful for the warmth.
Your eyelids grow heavy, you're about to drift off into sleep, when the loudest crack of thunder yet echoes through the room. Henry jolts violently.
Without thinking, you reach out and take his hand.
Fear floods you instantly. Fear that he will recoil, that he will be angry at your presumption and you'll end up being punished again.
Instead, he closes his eyes and relaxes into your touch.
"You're okay," you say reassuringly, brushing your thumb slowly over his hand.
Henry turns to face you.
"Why are you being so kind to me?" he whispers.
"I wouldn't want anyone to be scared," you reply quietly.
"Even you, I guess. I saw the look on your face. I felt your fear, and I wanted to take it away. If I could."
The words surprise even you.
Caring for the man who abducted you, seems insane.
The man who tore you from your comfortable life, from your world, and imprisoned you in another?
For a fleeting moment, you wonder if you have finally lost your mind.
Henry does not answer. Instead, he shifts closer. Slowly and deliberately, until his head rests on the same pillow as yours.
His breathing is steadier now, close enough for you to feel. His gaze never leaves yours.
Your body is electric with awareness.
The tension between you is palpable, thick enough to drown out the storm that is still raging outside the walls.
The world seems to fall silent. There is only you and Henry. Nothing else.
He presses his forehead gently against yours.
Instinctively, you tilt your head, brushing your nose gently up and down his cheek, lingering near his mouth. Your fingers slip into his hair, which is impossibly soft beneath your touch. The moment stretches, unbearable in its restraint.
Henry's expression tightens, a faint frown settling between his brows as if the feeling building inside him is too much to contain.
His eyes shine, dark and conflicted, and for a moment he looks as though he might break apart entirely. You feel the same ache curling in your chest, sharp and overwhelming.
Desire aching until it borders on pain.
Foreheads still touching, breathing faster and heavier, both of you caught in the same intense moment, on the verge of something irreversible.
Henry's hand rises to your cheek, tracing slowly down your jaw, over your neck. His fingers rest loosely at your throat, and you feel his breathing deepen.
His breath ghosts against your lips, before his lips brush against yours.
Not quite a kiss, but close enough that your breath catches painfully in your throat. It lasts barely a second, soft and hesitant, as though he is testing something.
The contact is enough to make your chest ache. Enough to make his breath stutter against your mouth. Enough to send a shiver through you both.
For a moment, neither of you moves.
Then he pulls back.
Only slightly, but the loss of warmth feels sudden and cruel.
His forehead rests against yours again, his eyes shut, jaw clenched tight as though it has taken every ounce of restraint he has not to give in completely.
"This is dangerous" he whispers in a deep voice, seemingly talking to himself more than you.
His hand slips away from your throat, lingering for just a second longer than necessary before falling away.
The space between you returns, thin and fragile, charged with a million questions. Everything unresolved.
You both lie still for a few minutes.
The thunder has completely stopped. The atmosphere is eerily still.
Henry's breathing finally evens out beside you. Exhausted, he is asleep.
You, however, are not.
You stare at the ceiling, replaying everything that just happened. The fear, the intense closeness, the way your body leaned into his as if it was natural.
You get an unsettling sense that something has broken. Shifted.
In him.
In you.
And you don't know whether that terrifies you more than any storm ever could.