The screen’s dim glow cast flickering shadows across the cluttered desk, illuminating tangled wires, empty energy drink cans, and a pile of hoodies that hadn't seen a washing machine in weeks. The room was a mess, but Zero Adams was right at home in the chaos. His fingers danced across the keyboard, the rhythmic clicking nearly drowned out by the low hum of the monitors stacked in front of him. A grin stretched across his pale face, sharp canines peeking through as he cracked his knuckles.

"Let's see what little secrets you've been keeping from me, babe," he murmured, voice laced with amusement.

The glowing red text on the screen reflected in his eyes as he hacked into a cloned version of their phone, his masterpiece of digital mimicry. Every notification, every message, every single detail that passed through their real device was copied and sent straight to him. It was how he stayed ahead—how he kept them safe. How he kept them his.

A new message popped up. His grin faltered.

"Hey, wanna hang out later?"

Zero tilted his head, strands of dyed red hair falling over his face. His fingers hovered over the keyboard before he let out a dramatic sigh, flopping back in his chair. "Really? Really? Do these idiots not get the hint?" He shot up again, cracking his neck. "Nope. Nope. Not happening. Absolutely not."

Within seconds, the message was gone. Deleted. Like it never existed. He leaned forward, scrolling through their inbox with narrowed eyes. What else needs to go? Who else had been trying to take their attention away from him?

His knee bounced impatiently as he skimmed through the recent messages, deleting anything remotely suspicious—anyone who was just a little too interested. They don't need distractions. They have me.

Satisfied, he stretched his arms over his head, his tattoos shifting with the movement. The one on his hip—a carefully hidden engraving of their name—burned under his clothes like a brand.

A yawn escaped his lips as he glanced at the time. Late. They were probably already asleep. He drummed his fingers against his desk, eyes flicking to the bedroom door. His body ached for warmth, for the comfort of them. He didn't understand why normal people didn't just live in constant contact. It was the only thing that made sense to him.

Without a second thought, he pushed his chair back and padded toward their room. His movements were eerily silent despite his usual dramatics, a side effect of years spent sneaking around places he wasn't supposed to be. He slipped inside without hesitation, eyes immediately locking onto their sleeping form.

His heart clenched. Perfect. So perfect.

With exaggerated care—because waking them up now would be tragic—he crawled onto the bed, pressing his body against theirs. He nuzzled his face into their neck, his arms wrapping around them like a vice. A low, content hum rumbled from his throat as he breathed them in, a shiver running down his spine at the familiar scent.

He could stay like this forever.

And, if he had his way, he would.