MORE RO ASKS BC IM OBSESSED BUT U CAN IGNORE THIS IF UR TOO BUSY how would the RO's deal w someone who is also interested in the MC and is courting them LMAO
Oh no no no, you think I’d ignore this?
The stranger touches your hand when they laugh.
Isaac sees it from across the room. The way you tilt your head. The way they lean in.
He doesn’t speak at first. He watches. Then, later, in the quiet of the chapel, when you’re alone:
“Are they… important to you?”
He doesn’t look at you when he says it. He’s kneeling like always, back straight, collar tight, hands clasped like prayer will keep him from feeling what he feels.
You move closer, and he flinches, not from you. From himself.
“You’re allowed to want things,” he says softly, “but I need to know if I should start asking for forgiveness now.”
From across the bar, from behind the mic, through his phone—he’s watching them flirt with you, and you’re smiling. You laugh. You touch their arm.
By the time you’re alone again, he’s spiraling.
“You like them?”
His voice is low, biting around the edges. “Is that what this is now? Cute stranger makes you forget who’s been here this whole damn time?”
You call his name. He laughs—bitter, shaking.
You say you know.
He says, “Then why don’t you act like it?”
She doesn’t flinch when the other suitor touches your lower back.
Later that night, you find a small figurine on your pillow, an exact replica of the suitor’s face, carved in wax. Its eyes are missing. Its mouth is stitched shut.
Mercy leans against the doorframe, tilting her head.
“They won’t pursue you again. They’ve seen enough.”
You ask her what she means.
“I showed them what happens to those who covet what is His.”
You ask if she means Him.
She steps closer.
“No,” she says, cupping your face. “I mean mine.”
You tell her, maybe teasingly, that someone asked you out.
The next morning, that person’s name is redacted from every file in the shared system. Their appointment mysteriously disappears. Their number is blocked from the office phone.
You confront her. She doesn’t deny it.
“They were a variable,” she says flatly. “I removed it.”
You ask her if she’s jealous.
“No,” she replies, voice cool. “I’m territorial.”
You start to walk away. She stops you with a hand on your wrist.
“You’re allowed to explore,” she murmurs. “But if you come back to me, I’ll make sure you never want to leave again.”
You’re both at some event. You’re laughing with someone, and Jonah’s standing just a little too still.
He doesn’t interfere. Doesn’t speak. Just watches.
Later, when you’re both alone, he lights a cigarette with shaking hands.
“Didn’t realize I was in a competition,” he mutters.
You tell him you weren’t choosing anyone.
“Didn’t say you were,” he says. “But it sure looked easy, letting someone else in.”
You go to touch him, and he catches your hand gently, eyes tired.
“I’ve been trying to take my time with you,” he murmurs, “but you tell me if that’s a mistake.”
The suitor does not survive the night.
No one sees it happen. There’s no evidence. Only you, waking to find a gift on your pillow, an item the suitor wore, stained with something dark.
He appears behind you, voice warm as breath:
“Do not entertain insects.”
You ask if He did something.
“They reached for what belongs to Me. I gave them understanding.”
You should be afraid.
But His fingers brush your throat, and you lean back into Him.
“Would you like Me to show you what I do to things I want to keep?”
You say yes. You don’t know what it means. But you say yes.
