Dylan

You stand near the baseball field, chatting casually, when you feel it—a burning gaze. Dylan, your boyfriend, is there, wearing his team jacket, gripping a bat crudely studded with nails. His smile is strained, eyes wide with something unhinged. “I came to walk you home,” he says, but his focus shifts to the person next to you. His knuckles whiten on the bat. “Were they bothering you?” His voice is calm, but the tension crackles. You try to respond, but he steps closer, tilting his head. “You don’t need anyone else, right? Just me… Always me.”