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AWS Continuum لتمكين أمان كود الوكيل للمؤسسات
قدمت Amazon Web Services مؤخرًا AWS Continuum، وهي منصة أمان متكاملة جديدة لأتمتة اكتشاف مشكلات الأمان وتنفيذها ومعالجتها عبر قواعد التعليمات البرمجية والتبعيات والتطبيقات. يتم إطلاق AWS Continuum بأربع إمكانات وكيلة، تهدف إلى دورة حياة الثغرات الأمنية بأكملها: اختبار الاختراق، ومراجعة التعليمات البرمجية، ونمذجة التهديدات، ونقاط ضعف التعليمات البرمجية. “تم بناء Continuum على الدروس المستفادة من…
Continuum: The Implant Is a Suicide Note (Fanfiction)
Something in this world is already watching him back.
Emily Marcus notices it before she can name it: a triage grid dropped over her face, the same clinical stillness she uses on dying patients, turned back on her. He calls himself Caleb Marsh, a laid-off BC Ambulance paramedic running a fresh "Emergency Management Consulting" cover from a dead man's Vancouver apartment, while a wellness check his ex-partner Reyes filed still sits open in the VPD system. Something under his skin reads her pulse in red, yellow, green before he can stop it, and takes his warnings so literally that "stay out of the lobby Wednesday afternoon" is the only phrasing sa…
📖 Read FREE — no paywall, new chapters daily → unwrittenrealm.com
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📖 Chapter 1: Chapter 1 : Waking in the Wrong Body
[Hastings and Abbott — March 14, 2012, 4:18 a.m.]
His hand found the pulse before he told it to.
Two fingers to the inside of the wrist, pressing, counting. Sixty-eight and even, a shade slow for a man this afraid. The hand knew the work the way a hand knows a stair in the dark. It had taken a thousand wrists. None of them this one. And now it pressed skin that answered to a name he had not yet agreed to wear.
On the floor by the futon sat a mug. The coffee in it had gone to silt and skin, a curd of cream stalled at the rim. Someone had poured it and meant to come back for it. Someone had run clean out of mornings. On the nightstand, under a folded copy of the Vancouver Sun and a phone lying face-down, a driver's license caught the streetlight. MARSH, CALEB. Twenty-six. The photo flat and tired. The face was his. The face had never been his.
A light came up behind his left eye, where no light belonged.
Not a lamp. Not the slow bloom of a dream. A clean ribbon of text, laid over the dark of the room the way frost forms on glass, from the inside.
[HEART RATE 68 // RESP 14] [CMR-PRIME // MODULE A — ACTIVE]
He sat up too fast. The room kept its corners. The data did not stop. It crawled the walls and named them. The window at the far end was a load-bearing weakness, third from true. The radiator ticked at a frequency the ribbon graded and dismissed. Two floors down a woman's chest moved in a rhythm the text called anomalous, and offered, unasked, to tell him why.
Given, he thought, and had nothing for the other side of it.
He stood. The legs took the weight before he asked them to, which was its own small horror, a body running its own errands. He found the bathroom by the cold draft under the door.
The mirror held a stranger doing exactly what he did.
[MARSH, CALEB — AGE 26 — PARAMEDIC (LAID OFF)]
He leaned in. The stranger leaned in. Same chapped knuckles, same two-day beard, same set to the jaw. Then the ribbon turned over, the way a card turns, and showed its second face.
[CMR-PRIME HOST — DESIGNATION: PRIME] [INSERTION ORIGIN: 2077]
Two thousand seventy-seven. He read it twice. The number meant a great deal and explained nothing, a price tag with no item behind it.
The cost arrived then. Warm, sudden, a thread of red off his lip and into the basin. He cupped water to his nose. The water ran pink and the bleed kept on, patient, for a minute and a half by the clock in his skull, then quit of its own accord, having taken what it came for.
He had signed nothing. The implant collected anyway.
The closet stood open a hand's width. Inside, on the rod by itself, hung a uniform pressed sharp as a blade. BC Ambulance Service. Pleat in the trousers, name strip stitched and squared. A dead man's good intentions, ironed and waiting for a shift that would not come.
He reached for the fabric the way you check a wound you already know is bad.
It came at him whole.
Diesel and wet asphalt. Rain in the high beams, a long curve of highway gone to wreckage, glass like hail across two lanes. The weight of a small body lifted from a back seat, light, too light, gone before the second unit even cleared the bend. And under it all, threaded through the sense of the thing like a watermark, a string of coordinates and a date stamp in the implant's flat hand: a crash on a road south of the city that would not happen for three more years.
He let go. His own road came up under the borrowed memory before he could stop it — a freeway, headlights swinging, the long sick second of knowing and the shorter ones after, when knowing changed nothing at all. He stepped back from the closet and stood breathing in a room that had never breathed for him.
Enough. The paramedic in the muscle had a word for this, and he reached for it because it was the only ground in reach.
He sat on the edge of the futon, palms flat on his knees, and made his mouth do the work.
"I am Caleb Marsh."
[IDENTITY ANCHOR — CONFIRMED]
The body's alarm came down a notch. The breathing slowed to something a chart would call normal. He sat with the strangeness of having steadied a patient who was himself.
A siren rose on Hastings, swelled, slid past, and faded toward the water.
[VPD UNIT 47 — NON-EMERGENCY TRANSPORT]
Probably nothing, the implant offered, in the voice it used for things it had already decided. The hands twitched anyway, both of them, reaching for a radio at a hip that carried none. He pressed them flat again.
The phone on the nightstand lit. It threw a square of white on the ceiling stain, and he turned it over.
Seventeen missed calls stacked under a supervisor's name, the most recent two weeks old, a man who had stopped expecting an answer. Then, fresh, at 4:32, a thread from a contact saved as REYES.
Call me. Something's happening at the port.
A second line landed while he held it.
Seriously. Port. Now. Not a drill.
He did not know REYES. The body did. The body wanted to stand, to move, to find the bag with the shears and the penlight that the brain already knew was not in this apartment. He held the phone and let the want pass through him like weather.
Beneath the noise of it, under the texts and the cold mug and the uniform he would never wear, the implant set down one more line, smaller than the rest, the way a thing is quiet when it matters.
[CMR-STANDARD — SIGNAL DETECTED // RANGE 4.1 KM E]
Another one. Another light behind another eye, somewhere east across the rain, close enough to feel like breath on the neck. Whoever they were, they had come recently. The thought sat down beside the other thought, the ugly one he had been holding off since the mirror: that his own waking and their arrival might be the same event, read from two sides.
He looked at the mug on the floor. The dead man's last coffee, gone to silt. Waste was waste, and he was alive, and the body under him had not eaten. He picked it up, drank the cold dregs in two swallows, and set the cup down empty where he'd found it. A poor communion, but the only one going.
He dressed in the dead man's jeans, the dead man's jacket, the dead man's boots that fit because the feet were the feet now. He took the keys. He took the phone.
The door of the walk-up opened one way, into the hall, into the city, into a world that knew Caleb Marsh and would notice the moment it met someone else inside him.
He opened it.
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📖 Chapter 2: Chapter 2 : Testing the Machine
[Powell Street — 6:04 a.m.]
The man two booths down would be dead in twenty-seven years, and the implant told Caleb how.
[STROKE — ISCHEMIC — 2039]
It hung over the cook's left shoulder, a small clean verdict, while the man worked the flat-top with his sleeves shoved up and his back held wrong, a soldier's spine on a fry cook's frame. The text named that too. FORMER MILITARY, off the way he kept the door in the corner of his sight. Caleb sat with a coffee he had ordered to buy the booth and watched a sentence of death float beside a stranger flipping hash.
It was the seventh thing the morning had told him that he had no right to know. He had been counting.
The diner was a long box of fogged glass off Powell, open all night because the city never fully closed this end of it. Sleet ran the window in slow ropes. The implant tagged the room without being asked. Exits in green. A woman in the corner with a social worker's bag, three case files and a thermos, NON-THREAT. The bus idling outside, its driver a man the text said would be fired in two years for refusing to bolt a camera to his cab. Sixteen ribbons of it, stacked and patient, each one a withdrawal from an account he could not see.
The pressure behind his right eye had become a nail.
So he closed his eyes in the booth and tried to speak to the thing in the only language it seemed to take. Not words, exactly. Intent, shaped as narrow as he could make it, the way you talk to a machine that grants what you ask and not what you want.
Show me only what I need to survive the next hour.
The world thinned.
Sixteen ribbons collapsed to three. Heart rate, his own. Threat proximity, a single calm number. Distance to the nearest temporal anomaly, holding steady to the east. The cook's death year winked out. The bus driver's small future went dark. The relief came up through his shoulders like water leaving a held breath, and the nail behind his eye dulled to an ache he could live inside.
He opened his eyes to a diner that was only a diner. A man eating eggs. A woman with her files. Steam off a flat-top. After the flood, the plainness of it felt close to grace.
Given: quiet. Taken: the part of me that asked for all of it.
The phone buzzed against the table. REYES again.
Marsh. I'm not kidding. Six down. Come if you're alive.
Six down. The word down had a precise meaning in the hands that held the phone, and the hands wanted the door. Under the diner's fluorescents the muscle began its old liturgy without permission — count the casualties, sort by who can wait, find the one whose silence means they're losing air. The body leaned toward the sirens it could not hear yet.
The rest of him did the arithmetic the body refused.
A man with a 2077 machine behind his eye, no license to carry, no name that would survive a second question, walking onto a mass-casualty scene crawling with VPD. That was not triage. That was a confession with witnesses.
The implant, meanwhile, had finished a different sum on its own. The eastern signal, the one that had felt like breath on the neck, resolved while he sat there. It put a name to it the way it had put a name to him, flat and final.
[CMR-STANDARD // DESIGNATION: CAMERON, KIERA — PROTECTOR CLASS]
He went still.
The name landed with weight, the kind that comes from a file read too many times. He carried a great deal he had no business carrying, futures filed where memory should be, and this was a face in it. A Protector. CPS-trained, principled to the bone, taught to find anomalies in a city and close on them. The implant gave him a movement vector and a discipline rating and the cold news that her patrol and his morning would cross the downtown core three times before noon.
She was not looking for him. Not yet. But she was carrying her own light behind her own eye, and it read the same residue his did, and the space between their two circles was getting smaller.
He turned the phone face-down. The hands let it go. That was the moment, though he marked it without ceremony: the first time the man who saved people lost to the man who needed to disappear.
Then he spent what he had been afraid to spend.
He framed it as carefully as he knew how, because vagueness was the thing that cost. The port. Vancouver. This month. The incident at the port. He fed it to the implant and asked, deliberately, for the first time, the question the dead man's hands could not stop asking: what happened.
The answer was a hole.
[QUERY: PORT OF VANCOUVER / MARCH 2012 / INCIDENT] [NO MATCH — RECORD 2010–2077]
He read it three times. Behind his eye the nail drove back in, sharp and bright, the price of asking on purpose, and he breathed through it the way he'd breathe through a patient's scream, present and unmoved.
It was not the pain that turned his stomach. It was the absence. The record he had been handed, the future he could recite, had no line for six people going down at the harbor on the fourteenth of March. Which meant one of two things, and both of them were bad. Either the future he trusted was full of holes he could not see until he leaned on them. Or something had already moved this morning, made a thing that was never supposed to be, and the world had begun to drift off the only map he owned.
He had been awake for two hours. The map was wrong already.
[Counter — 6:31 a.m.]
He paid at the till with a dead man's money, eleven dollars and forty cents for coffee and a sandwich he hadn't touched. The waitress took it with the easy warmth of someone who'd been pouring since four. Her name tag said HELEN. She slid his change across and smiled, and it was a real smile, the kind a tired woman spends on a stranger for free.
He had asked the implant for only what he needed. He needed nothing from Helen.
Some part of him wanted to know she'd be alright anyway.
The implant heard the wanting, because it heard intent and not the cleaner thing he meant, and it answered through the filter as if the filter were a curtain it could reach behind.
[CARCINOMA — PULMONARY — 2041]
The year of her death, and the cause, and the quiet codicil that no one would catch it until it was everywhere in her. He took his change. He said thank you. He filed her under the only heading the hands had left him for people he could not touch — not my call — and the filing felt like a small theft from the man whose fingers were doing it.
"Have a good one," Helen said.
"You too," Caleb said, and meant it, which made it worse.
Outside, the sleet had thinned to rain. To his left the city ran down to the inlet and the harbor, where a thread of sirens still climbed the grey, where REYES stood over six people the future had never warned him about. The feet turned that way on their own.
He went the other way.
And the question went with him, step for step, the whole length of Powell: had the harbor always held those six, waiting in a record too thin to show them — or had something put them there this morning, the same morning the doors opened, the same morning he woke in a borrowed body with a stranger's light behind his eye. He had no file for it. He walked into the rain with the sirens at his back and no answer in any account he could read.
sometimes i wish i was born a bit earlier so i could've experienced the continuum (2012) fandom when it was still relatively alive
“ his missing piece ” — cody aguilar x f!reader dating headcanons !!
cw: established relationship, fluff/comfort, a tablespoon of angst, suggestive implications, a half-cup of self-deprecating bartender, (nearly 2k words..)
he sticks to calling you “love/lovely” very often. (sometimes when he’s tired, his Filipino accent slips out when he says “love” hehe) however, if you’ve stayed by his side for long enough and reassured him that you love him unconditionally, it’ll only be a matter of time before his first “angel” slips out.
“say my name again, lovely… god, you sound perfect.”
he won’t typically initiate PDA around the hotel, but he REALLY REALLY likes it when you’re the one to make the move. give him a goodbye peck on the lips as you leave him by the bar and he’ll be thinking about you the whole day.
he’d prefer to keep PDA subtle, which is why he tends to kiss your temple when you guys are out in public <3 when he’s feeling tired, though, the gentlest of kisses on his lips will make his heart stutter. do that repeatedly while you lie on his chest and you’ve got yourself a half-asleep, half-melted bartender under you. BUT if he’s been missing you.. don’t be surprised when he has a hand on the side of your neck, his other hand on your hip as he leaves slow kisses over the pulse in your neck.
“stay a little longer.. i’ll take care of you, love.”
honestly, cody is one of the best people to ask for advice on nearly anything, from “which dress looks better on me?” to “does this person not like me?” even though he may seem too direct or awkward, he’s observant and picks up on tons of details, so he always has useful input.
because of that, he also has REALLY good instinct for some reason? he can recommend you a new drink you’ve literally never tried before and it’ll end up turning into your new favorite. every time you ask him how he knew, he just shrugs and says “i know your taste” (no, not that taste…)
he’s also one of the most honest people in the hotel. he will not bullshit you and will tell you in the way you prefer, while still being receptive about your feelings. if you ever feel hurt, don’t be afraid of telling it straight to his face because he’ll be so understanding.
he loves listening to you so much it’s so sweet 🥹 it doesn’t matter how good or bad you are at yapping, he’ll absorb everything you say. getting vv excited? he’ll grin and ask you questions to find out more. don’t know how to describe something? he’ll get context clues and help you form your words. subconciously, he also remembers these little quirks you have when you’re talking, such as if you use “like” a lot, or you break into song when something sounds like a lyric, or you use obscure references, he’ll catch it all.
him noticing your quirks don’t stop at your yapping either! he has your little habits ingrained in his brain sm that if anyone does the same thing, he’ll immediately think of you. (and then start to miss you..)
you know that he trusts you when he starts opening up about his interests and opinions <3 when you find out that he loves puzzles, reads mystery books, or likes philosophy, you’ll finally see more of the cody that not a lot of people see. you’ll get to see how he is under the nonchalant, easygoing “blank slate” so many people are familiar with.
on that topic, i hope you like mystery! because he WILL try to subtly hint at the fact that he’s interested in an escape room or solving one of those crime kits or the mysteries online with you (code word: TRY, he’s so awkwardly obvious that he wants to do them)
he’s been a motorcyclist for a few years now! so definitely expect him to take you on occasional late night motorcycle rides with you wearing your very own helmet that he bought for you :> he loves hearing your little squeals when he starts speeding up (and the tight hold your arms have around his waist) but it’s okay, you know he means well when you guys are waiting on a red light and he reaches behind him to squeeze and rub your thigh to check in on you
his love languages are acts of service (giving) and quality time (receiving)! his little workaholic ass will not hesitate to do any chore, errand, or task you’re too tired to deal with. and yes, he gives good massages for some reason and WILL offer it to you. all that drink mixing made him good w his hands 🤫 but actually, he kind of struggles with not being able to see you for long periods of time. he typically isn’t bothered if he has to go to the bar to do his shift, bc he knows he’ll come back to you :) but whenever you have to leave, he’s just waiting for you to return.
wanna know a little secret though? the key to cody’s heart may actually just be reassurance, the soft and gentle kind. tell him he’s so sweet for helping you, that you’ll be there for him, and that you’ll always come back to him at the end of the day. (just ignore the way his eyes get glossy and the way he’ll hide it by guiding your face to rest on his shoulder.)
ANYWAY, do you know he’s obsessed with holding your waist and hips? he doesn’t know why but his hands always find themselves slotted there, rubbing comforting circles into your skin. maybe he’s had a long day, or he’s convincing you to stay a little longer, or.. something else.
he loves reading crime, mystery, and thriller books! he doesn't actually read romance books that much, and yet that still won't stop him from thinking of you whenever a couple is even slightly mentioned in any of his books. and if you insist, yes, he can definitely read you to sleep. (it’s one of the only ways he chooses to talk for so long, i just hope you don’t mind falling asleep to Silence of The Lambs…?)
he gets so protective over you it’s really cute :,) won’t hesitate to let you borrow his jacket if your top is too revealing, will guide you by your waist as you navigate through a crowd, and will stand behind you and keep adjusting your dress if it’s a little short. ALSO, i’m so sorry but if you’re with another guy, he will try SO HARD to act like he isn’t bothered when all he wants to do is hear you say he’s yours in front of him.
if you ever find out about dinah and bring it up to him, he will talk about their history if you ask (but he’ll hate every second of it. he feels like he’s reliving through all the neglect again). even though it isn’t his fault, he would feel guilty for making you jealous or worried. don’t worry, he would 100% reassure you that he’d choose to love you over ever choosing dinah again.
“if i wanted to be with her, i would have stayed. i’m with you because i want you, angel. only you.”
i’m so sorry but cody had such low standards (which he tried hard to work on) when he got into a relationship, which is why he literally treasures every sweet gesture you do. he’s scared it won’t last, so he’ll reciprocate it to give you a reason to stay. (dinah messed him up bad..)
IF you’re filipino as well, he’d be caught off-guard bc of being friends with hayden for so long (legit a primarily english-speaking japanese man) but you bet he’d start being more comfortable since he’s relieved someone else can finally understand him. his tagalog WILL slip out when he’s exhausted and his raspy sleepy voice is a bonus hehe
“love, lumapit ka dito.. please. pahinga muna tayo.”
it’s actually pretty hard to make cody blush. whenever you try, he just breaks into a relaxed smirk and asks you some variation of “what’s got you so riled up, hm?” BUT the easiest way to fluster him is to catch him completely off-guard. is he complaining about a particularly difficult customer at the bar? let him see your eyes glance at his lips. did you drop something in front of him? put a hand on his thigh to stabilize yourself when you pick it back up. did he phrase something a little weird? twist his words to suggest something else. look back at him innocently and pretend nothing ever happened, just admire the sight of your boyfriend tripping over his words and needing to clear his throat, convincing himself you didn’t mean anything else.
CODY’S BIGGEST GREEN FLAG IS THAT HE’S NOT AFRAID OF COMMITMENT!! stay with him long enough and prove that you love all of him, and honestly? it doesn’t take him long to consider always staying by your side. of course, he’ll have certain doubts, mostly questioning if he’s really the best option for you to stay with. but he’d be absolutely lying if he said he wished you would choose him regardless :’)
this doesn’t mean he doesn’t have flaws, however. one thing he struggles a lot with is that he was taught to be incredibly self-sufficient, so if there’s something bothering him, he’ll spend days and days trying to solve it on his own because the thought of asking you for help would never occur until he’s exhausted. he might hyperfixate on solutions to your relationship problems, asking “what happened?” “why do you feel bad?” and “how can we fix this?” first before actually comforting you. he’s also very used to directness so he might not pick up on social cues like whether you need space or you need him.
but one thing he loves is when you act so unapologetically you. when you run out of breath from rambling about something you love so much, when you wake up in the morning with frizzy hair and don’t bother to fix it, when you sing without a care in the shower, when you still feel the courage to tell him “i don’t know what to do” during a rough time, you’ve caught his heart.
cody hopes that you know he tries. yes, he’s quiet, and at first, it felt like he didn’t care about anything, like he was an unfinished draft no one’s picked back up for years. but he does care, about many things, about you. he doesn’t understand why you choose to stay when he feels like he has nothing to stay for. call him selfish for this, but he still wants you to choose him. whatever happens in the future, just know that when his fingers tremble around a cold glass of old fashioned and he feels a burn in his throat that he never thought he'd feel again, he loves you.
ego is either an absolutely stunning sapphic woman, or an aroace CHUD. There's no in-between.
Keith finally uploaded the Manosphere episode on Rumble! 😭 After like two weeks help
“ the sun’s light ” — hayden naito x f!reader dating headcanons !!
cw: headcanons, fluff/comfort, sliiight suggestive implications, slight angst (it's okay hayden, nobody's perfect)
besides the occasional “babe” or “baby”, HE’D CALL YOU “pretty” OR “pretty girl”
“c’mere please? i missed you so much, you have no idea, pretty girl”
loves kissing you on your lips as a greeting, goodbye, or casual PDA, but if you're not as comfortable w that, he also loves kissing your nose! and in private, when he's more tired or relaxed (or frisky…?), he loves leaving slow kisses on your jaw
would let you trace and color in his tattoos whenever you’re stressed or anxious, humming a random song while you're on top of him
a lot of (careful) playfighting in bed if you've been teasing him too much. finds your giggles adorable as he traps you between his arms
hope you like tickles 🙏 he WILL pinch or tickle your sides and ass if you've been dating long enough.. if you're giving him the silent treatment or to just be annoying
would cook literally anything for you! he's always loved experimenting in the kitchen so there's near to nothing he wouldn't try making for you. disclaimer: he WILL jokingly fish for compliments and praise tho
“taste sweet, baby? mhm, great, great.. you know what else is sweeter?”
run a hand through his hair and he’ll MELT. will legit turn as red as the dye in his hair. USE THIS SPARINGLY or you will kill the remaining functioning brain cells he has left.
secretly loves taking any chance there is to flex his physique (sending gym pics, walking around his room shirtless, getting you trace the tattoos on his biceps, and.. among.. other things…)
his top love languages are quality time (giving) and words of affirmation (receiving). having you anywhere near him gives him a giant motivation boost (you’re his body double vv frequently to help him with his ADHD bc of this) and overall just having you with him really helps anchor his attention. + he acts funnily smug and fishes for praise jokingly until… you actually genuinely compliment him and his heart grows twice its size.
“okay, don't lie babe, my arms look amazing in this shirt” “(shyly laughs) that good, huh..? i mean, i try.. and i'll definitely try harder if you keep looking at me like that..”
he remembers the most random, specific details of events in your relationship that are important to him. cody reminded him to ask the hotel staff to refill the ice in the bar just 10 minutes ago? slipped his mind. what jewelry were you wearing on your first ever date? he knows where you got it, how much it costs, and where you put them in your room :p
will DIE before he ever tells you this but he subconsciously draws and doodles you whenever he fidget-draws on anything. he never told you because he’d get scared of you thinking he’s a creep, but if you look in a specific drawer in his room, you’d find napkins, receipts, and sticky notes all with little doodles of you.
whenever you order at the bar, he puts in a liiiittle more effort in your order compared to everyone else’s, maybe your pasta has cleaner presentation or your shirley temple has an extra cherry... served with a wink and a smug grin, of course. (shh, just don’t tell staff <3)
honestly? finds you the most attractive when you’re confident; he thinks the pride you have in yourself makes you radiant. (may or may not bite his lip whenever you stand your ground or bite back…)
he is INCREDIBLY patient with you. slow learner? he’ll repeat instructions over and over again. scared to open up? he’s right here with a shoulder for you to lean on and your favorite drink in hand. you make a bad mistake? he’ll wait and listen to your side of things.
though, during heated arguments, when he notices himself getting too mad, he has a bad habit of walking out on you. It's not that he's avoiding responsibility, but rather he's terrified of lashing out and saying something that’ll hurt you. he’s trying to get better, he promises, he just doesn’t wanna lose you. not any more people please.
“pretty, i’m.. sorry i left you. i didn’t mean to, i swear, i was mad and i didn’t wanna say anything until i calmed down.” “come here.. please? i just wanna hold you.. just a bit…”
gets protective and defensive when anyone trashes your name, achievements, role, etc. and will full-on have your back, ready to defend what you’ve accomplished and your efforts.
is always terrified of you interacting with the subjects and tries not to get you involved with whatever shenanigans they get up to, convincing you they’re just playing around. is secretly always overthinking that it isn’t safe for you to be dating him, not in the hotel, so he doesn’t let you get too close to staff.
but it really doesn’t change the fact that he loves you. you’re the reason why he tries harder to work on his ADHD, why he tries to use calendars, why he’s motivated to clean his room, why he can finally sleep better at night.
you inspire him so much to get better and he’ll be damned if you ever feel any less than perfect. no matter what happens t̸̢́ö̴͕ ̴̦̒ḫ̸̚i̴̫͗ḿ̵͇, he promises he’ll figure it out. he hopes every day that he won’t mess up what you guys have.
