You should’ve been used to it by now. The fear of what you could wreak with your own two hands, the seemingly obsessive behavior towards tech. But you weren’t, and now you were paying for it, and you hated it. Fear and a need to survive had shaped you and your skills to a fine edge, and not expecting them to cut was stupid.
Serves you right for thinking you were anything but Honnoji’s Dog, the sneaking little hound with a nose for data, a scientist, and now a literal hound. You have always been tailor-made to inspire fear in your datemate. You forgot that, hoping that your unwavering love and support would allay his concerns, you trusted him, with everything. Yourself, your life, and everything you had,
and he doesn’t trust you back.
You’re a dog on a leash, unfailingly loyal, but untrustworthy even when muzzled and chained. Deep down, you know you’ll forgive and grow content again, but for now, you want to scream, you want to spill your guts out, spill out a cacophony of words and feelings. And you cry. You cry until your throat hurts, your eyes hurt, your heart hurts.
Alone and miserable, and you deserve it. Merry Christmas.
