The words settled between us, unlike his hands, twisting in his lap.
"The structure. The rules," he continued, gathering strength. "They're supposed to be something for us to hold onto when everything else is chaos. Not something to put on the back burner."
He looked up, locking his gaze with mine.
"So I'm going to start enforcing them."
I reached up, dragging a fingertip against the cool stone at the center of my collar.
"So what am I supposed to do?" I asked. "Eat a chicken sandwich and watch a sitcom while you deal with everything?"
"If that's what I decided," he nodded. "Then yes, that's exactly what you do."
"But people need me. Candace. Sebastian. Rosie. You." I looked away. "You all need me and I'm what? Just supposed to not care?"
"Emma." He shifted closer, cupping my face in both hands, tilting it up until my eyes locked with his. "That's where I come in."
I frowned.
"If it's a rule—if it's something I require of you—then it's not younot caring." His thumb stroked across my cheekbone. "It's obedience. You're not admitting you can't handle it. You're submitting to my authority. Following my instructions."
Instructions. Authority. All the words he'd used that night, taking on different weights.
And I'd do it again.
The phrase echoed once more.
"I take the guilt away," he continued, low and steady. "I make the decision so you don't have to. So you can have everything you need—the rest, the care, the permission to breathe—without feeling like you've abandoned anyone."
Make the decisions so I didn't have to.
That was what he'd done, wasn't it?
As fucked up as it was, he'd done it. For me.
And at the end of the day—I wasn't the one who had to carry that weight.
"That feels like a loophole."
"It's not a loophole. It's the whole point."
A tear escaped. He caught it.
"You get to take care of yourself and take care of the people you love." He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to mine. "Because I'll make sure of it. I'll be the one who tells you when to stop. When to rest. When to let someone else carry the weight for a while."
"And if anyone asks why you're not running yourself into the ground?" He tilted my chin up. "You tell them I require it. Blame me. I can take it."
A wet laugh escaped me. "That's convenient."
"That's the point." He smiled softly. "You don't have to choose between caring for others and caring for yourself. Not anymore. I'll make sure you do both—whether you like it or not."
My lashes fluttered once.
"Okay."
He stiffened. "Okay?"
I rolled my eyes but smiled. "You're being a parrot again."
