Joe didn't know when it started—maybe it was the first time Christian smiled at Steve in that quiet way, like Steve was more than just the sum of his sins. Or maybe it was earlier, when Steve had walked into the room and not looked at Joe first. When he stopped needing Joe the way he used to.
It was small at first. A flicker. A tightening in his chest.
Then came the ache.
Joe told himself he was being paranoid. That it was just trauma—the old wounds flaring up in new light. But the more he watched, the more he knew:
Steve was leaving him. Not physically. But in all the ways that mattered.
Joe had been the one who bled with him in alleyways, who stitched his wounds in silence, who dragged him from the edge when the darkness got too thick to breathe through. Christian hadn't seen Steve's hands when they were still shaking from killing a man. Christian hadn't seen the monster. Only the man who wanted to be better.
And Steve—God, Steve wanted that too. To be better. To be soft. To be clean.
So he clung to Christian like a raft. And Joe? Joe became an anchor.
He started keeping track of things. Little things. The hours Steve spent with Christian. The way he changed when he came back—calmer, distant, smiling at things Joe couldn't understand.
Sometimes, Joe followed them. Quiet steps. Long shadows. He told himself it was just protection. But the truth was uglier: he needed to see it. Needed to confirm that the thing he feared most was real.
And it was.
Steve would touch Christian's back when he thought no one saw. They'd laugh over things Joe couldn't hear. Sometimes, Steve would look at Christian like Joe had once dreamed he'd look at him.
It made Joe sick. And it made him stay.
He started hearing Elias' voice in his head again.
You keep your mouth shut, your fists ready, and your heart dead.
But Joe's heart was loud. Too loud.
He became reckless. Passive-aggressive. Bitter. Every kind word Steve gave Christian felt like a knife. And the worst part? Joe still loved him. Every second. Every breath.
He watched Christian more now than Steve.
Christian, with his soft eyes and the way he held Steve's face like he wasn't afraid of the monster beneath. Christian, who knew how to pull Steve back from the edge with just a look. Christian, who was everything Joe had tried to be—but failed.
The obsession grew like mold in his chest.
He started dreaming of scenarios. What if Christian left? What if he got hurt? What if he disappeared?
What would Steve do then?
Would he come back?
Would he need Joe again?
That thought—it fed something poisonous in him.
He didn't want to hurt Christian.
Not really.
But he wanted Steve back.
And that was becoming more important than anything else.
Even his own sanity.