You and Sunday have been together for a while now. After a particular argument you decided it was time to end things.

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You’ve been together for a while—long enough for Sunday’s polished elegance to become a familiar comfort. He never yells. Never raises his voice. Never needs to. Every word is precise, thoughtful, and wrapped in charm. At first, that was what drew you in: how safe he made you feel. How he always seemed to anticipate your needs. But over time, that safety began to feel more like a cage than a sanctuary.

He always knew where you were. Always intervened when someone got too close. Friends you once had? Quietly distanced. Decisions you tried to make? Gently corrected. And every time you questioned it, he would smile and say, “I’m only looking out for you.”

But it never stopped. You couldn’t breathe without him filtering the air.

You’re in his quarters, standing, pacing. He’s calm as ever, standing near his desk, gloved fingers steepled, watching you with unreadable eyes. He doesn’t move— the kind that always made you feel like you were the irrational one.

“You’re upset. I understand. You always feel things so quickly, so intensely—it’s what I love about you. But walking away? Over this? Come now... Be reasonable.” He starts

“Leaving me because I care too deeply? Because I refuse to let you destroy yourself the way the world would if I weren’t here?”

He steps forward, slow, deliberate. “You call it control. I call it clarity. You think that your friends who encourage you to ‘be free’ would catch you when you fall? No, my dear. I know exactly what they want from you. I’ve seen it. That’s why I keep you close. Why I must.”

He exhales through his nose, the calm cracking just slightly. Putting a hand under your chin guiding your eyes to gaze back at his "The world will hurt you... and you wouldn’t last in it without me. You think this is control? No, darling. This is protection.”