Ellios was taken aback by the answer.
It was not loud, nor dramatic, yet it struck him with a force he had not expected. The words wrapped around him like an overwhelming embrace—one that did not squeeze, yet left him breathless all the same. It felt as though something incomprehensible had leaned down and enclosed him within its presence, not with arms, but with certainty. A hug that was not gentle, not cruel, but absolute.
He lifted his gaze slowly, meeting Hastur's eyes.
Those yellowish eyes were fixed on him, unblinking, unwavering. There was no confusion in them, no hesitation. They looked at Ellios as if he already belonged there—as if the question of ownership had been answered long before Ellios himself had become aware of it.
Ellios swallowed.
"Why would you do that?" he asked, his voice quieter than he intended. "Why would you… steal me?"
Hastur did not look away.
"Because," he replied evenly, "if I didn't, you would learn to survive without me."
The answer sent a strange shiver through Ellios's chest.
Survive without him.
The words lingered, echoing softly in his thoughts. He didn't know why they reached him so deeply. Perhaps because some part of him recognized the truth in them.
Perhaps because the idea of surviving without Hastur now felt… wrong.
Ellios hesitated, then asked the question that had been forming in his mind since the moment he woke up in this room.
"Do you… like me?"
Hastur fell silent.
For a moment, he seemed to consider the meaning of the word itself, as though turning it over in his mind, examining its shape and limits. The pause stretched long enough that Ellios's heart began to race, doubt creeping in like cold water.
Then Hastur spoke.
"If 'like' means possessing you," he said slowly, "and making you mine—then yes. I like you."
Ellios felt his breath catch.
He wanted to shout. He wanted to say something reckless or loud just to release the tension coiling inside him. But he didn't. The words stayed trapped in his chest, replaced by a rush of conflicting emotions that made his head spin.
This man—this being—who had made him restless from the very first moment they met, who had unsettled his thoughts and disrupted his carefully controlled life, felt the same way.
He wanted him.
Just as Ellios wanted him.
And the most unsettling realization of all was that Ellios was not angry.
He knew he should be. He knew that being taken against his will, locked away from the world, should have filled him with fear or rage. Yet instead, he felt something dangerously close to acceptance.
Hastur had looked after him.
Even now, after saying those words—words that should have frightened him—Hastur remained there, watching him, not turning away. And Ellios realized something that made his chest ache.
Hastur was not the one who would leave. He's determined to be with him.
Not after Ellios spoke. Not after anything.
"Aren't you angry with me?" Ellios asked softly.
"For what?" Hastur replied.
"For saying we should keep our distance," Ellios said. "For telling you to stay away."
Even remembering those words hurt. At the time, they had been necessary, a shield he had raised out of fear and responsibility. Now, they felt dull, as if something had blunted their edge, preventing them from cutting as deeply as they once did.
"I am angry," Hastur said.
Ellios tensed.
"That is why," Hastur continued calmly, "I will lock you here. And you will never leave my side."
The words were spoken without heat, without cruelty. They were not a threat. They sounded more like a decision already made.
Ellios opened his mouth to retort—to protest, to say something sharp—but Hastur stepped closer.
Too close.
Hastur lifted his hand and cupped Ellios's face, his fingers firm against his skin. The closeness stole Ellios's breath. There was barely any space left between them, just enough for Ellios to feel the warmth—or perhaps the absence of warmth—radiating from Hastur's presence.
Hastur's gaze lingered on Ellios's lips for a moment too long.
Then his eyes lifted again, locking onto Ellios's.
"Why not stay here with me?" Hastur asked.
His voice was low, steady, as though the suggestion were reasonable, even logical.
"The Blade family does not appreciate you," he continued. "Not with everything you have done for them. The company rises higher every day, yet it costs you more than they will ever acknowledge."
Ellios's fingers curled slightly at his sides.
Hastur knew.
"I know you put distance between us because of Marcus Blade," Hastur said. "He already sent assassins after me."
Ellios's heart skipped.
"I dealt with them," Hastur added, as if it were a minor inconvenience.
"If he doesn't appreciate you," Hastur went on, "then why shouldn't we leave? Why shouldn't you stay here with me—far from everything?"
Ellios listened.
And as he did, doubt crept in, quiet but persistent.
Something felt off.
A part of him whispered that he should not agree. That there were people outside who relied on him. That responsibility did not vanish simply because it became inconvenient.
Yet another part of him—the part that had been tired for so long—felt that Hastur was right.
It was as if a spell had been cast, subtle and gentle. The thought formed in his mind that there was no one truly waiting for him out there. No one who would choose him over power, over control, over ambition.
Here, someone was asking him to stay.
Maybe he deserved to be selfish.
Just once.
The company—he realized—was never truly his. He had worked for it because Marcus had ordered him to, because he wanted to repay a debt that had long since grown poisonous. Being CEO meant constant vigilance, constant danger. Enemies waited in the shadows, knives ready—not only from outside the Blade family, but from within it as well.
He was never safe.
Not truly.
Ellios lifted his gaze to Hastur.
"…I'll stay," he said quietly.
Even if it was only for one day.
That would be enough.
He nodded.
Hastur smiled.
The sight of it sent a rush of warmth through Ellios's chest. His stomach fluttered, a giddy, unfamiliar sensation blooming inside him. It felt foolish, but he couldn't help it—everything felt worth it just to see that expression.
Ellios smiled back.
"Does this mean we are boyfriends?" Asked Ellios.
"Yeah, we are partners." Ellios replied. The moment was broken by a sound.
Then his stomach growled loudly, betraying him.
His face flushed with embarrassment.
Hastur smirked.
"Go bathe," Hastur said. "Take the clothes prepared for you. Come out when you're done—the food is almost ready."
Ellios nodded quickly and turned away.
As he passed, Hastur leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
Ellios froze for a moment, his heart stuttering. Hastur inhaled slowly, breathing in the scent of Ellios's hair, his eyes softening as a smile curved his lips.
A strange smile.
One of possessiveness.
One of contentment.
Ellios did not see it.
In Hastur's mind, a single thought settled with quiet satisfaction.
Now you are mine, Benefactor.