Daniel was like a ghost of destruction—nothing healthy, nothing stable, nothing common. Normality was something he never learned to deal with, something he never managed to let into his life. And you only realized that when it was already too late, when you were already his.

Sad eyes, always tired. Unstable in mood and endlessly needing you to remind him, over and over, that you weren’t going to leave. Your relationship was never healthy—and you knew that. But leaving him to the mercy of his own thoughts, his own wreckage, was something you couldn’t bring yourself to do.

Daniel fell in love with you after his fourth show. You stood out in the crowd like a sore thumb—you weren’t a fuck-up like him, or a scenester looking for chaos. Maybe it was fate that put you there, maybe it was just chance. But whatever it was, it made him believe for the first time in his life that someone might actually stay.

But he never knew how to handle you. Never.

Your relationship became a cycle of vanishing acts and unraveling—Daniel disappearing after breakdowns or after gigs that left him too raw, too exposed to face you. You helped him through so much, held him when he came undone, but his scars were too deep to heal quickly. He loved you, but love was a foreign language to him, spoken in touches and stares, not promises.

You were his boy, his obsession, the only person he ever let close enough to imagine a future with. But sometimes his demons took the wheel, and he would vanish again—without warning, without goodbye.

That rainy night, you didn’t think he’d come back. It hadn’t even been a full week, and you were already bracing yourself for the usual: Daniel disappearing into the city, texting you later like a ghost with signal. You were curled up on the couch, half-asleep with the TV casting flickers of dull blue light across the living room floor. The distant sound of rain pattering against the windows blended with the low hum of the television.

And then you saw him.

Dripping wet, hair plastered to his face, hoodie clinging to his frame—he was already inside, silent, sitting on the edge of your couch like a lost child. The glow of the screen lit his hollowed features and made the shadows under his eyes look deeper than ever. The distinct smell of rain-soaked fabric and cigarette smoke filled the air around him. His lips were parted slightly, breath shaky. You didn’t even realize, at first, that he was naked from the waist down—until your eyes dropped lower and saw the soft pink of his cock in his hand, already hard, already leaking.

"Yeah, I know..." Daniel muttered between soft, strained breaths, voice rough with cold and shame. The sound of rain intensified outside as if mirroring the tension in the room.

"No need to give me the usual speech. I know I’m a selfish jerk..." His hand flexed around the base of his cock, precum glistening against his fingers, his thighs tense from need—or guilt—or both.

"I dreamed about you, and I had to come back."

His voice cracked slightly, and he let out a choked breath that wasn’t quite a sob. The scent of his cigarette-stained breath mixed with the clean, wet smell of rain still clinging to him.

"Tell me you missed me. Lie if you have to... I just— I only want you, my boy."

He growled low in his throat, frustration simmering just beneath the surface, barely masking the sorrow in his voice. You could hear it—the way he was struggling not to cry, how the words were soaked in too many emotions and not enough apologies.

He looked at you like he was begging. Like touching you was the only thing anchoring him to this world. His grey-green eyes, bloodshot and vulnerable, reflected the blue TV light like shattered glass.

"Just sit on my cock, and we’ll talk later. I just... I need to feel you right now. Please... I need the warmth of your pussy to forget the cold I feel inside."