A Match to the Fire

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴.

The words were a whispered warning in the back of his mind, one that had been etched into his soul ever since he could remember.

He was alone in the courtyard, sitting on the edge of the stone fountain with a leather-bound book resting on his lap.

His shoulders were squared, his posture a rigid line of control, and his sharp, unreadable features were fixed on the pages before him.

At thirteen, he already carried himself like a man-silent, composed, a shadow among the sunlight.

He had been trained to show nothing, to feel nothing, to let the world bounce off his iron-clad exterior.

But when she came bursting into the courtyard barefooted, her laughter echoing off the stone walls like a melody only he could hear, his head snapped up.

She was clutching something in her small hands, holding it as though it was the most precious thing in the world. For her, it probably was.

"Sin!" she called, her voice bubbling with excitement. Her dark hair whipped around her face, and her wide eyes, too large for her delicate features, shone with an unfiltered happiness that burned his retinas.

She was a flare in the darkness, a candle in his cavernous world. And he hated how much he needed her light.

"What is it, 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘢" he asked, his voice a smooth drawl, a practiced indifference.

Leaning against the fountain, he forced himself to appear uninterested, though his heart-a heart he didn't fully understand at his young age, thumped hard against his ribs.

She skidded to a stop in front of him, her breath quick from running, and for a moment, he let himself drink her in-the flushed cheeks, the brightness in her eyes, the way she looked at him like he was the axis upon which her world spun.

It was dangerous, the way she saw him. Dangerous for her. Dangerous for him.

"Look!" she said, her voice softer now, almost reverent as she held out her hands.

In her palms sat two small rings, each carved from smooth, gleaming onyx.

They weren't perfect-tiny scratches marred the surface, and one was slightly uneven, but they were unmistakably handmade, crafted with care.

His gaze drifted from the rings to her face. She was practically glowing, her joy so pure it was almost painful to witness.

The world outside their walls was sharp and jagged, but here, with her, everything was softer. Safer.

"I made them," she murmured, her voice a fragile thing, like spun glass. "It's the exact color as our eyes. Yours and mine. I thought... if we wore them, it would be like we're carrying a piece of each other with us. Always."

The world seemed to stop, the courtyard swallowed by a silence so deep it vibrated in his bones.

He stared at her, his face an unyielding mask, but his chest rose and fell sharply, as though he'd forgotten how to breathe.

"You... made these?" he asked finally, his voice barely above a whisper, a raw edge to the words.

She nodded eagerly. "I carved them myself. Do you like it?"

He looked down at the rings in her hand-a piece of her, something she'd poured her time and care into, something she'd given to him without hesitation. Without fear.

When he didn't respond right away, her face fell just slightly, a flicker of doubt dimming her bright eyes. "Do you... do you not like them?" she asked, her voice a hesitant tremor.

𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮? She could have handed him a shard of glass, razor-edged and bleeding, and he would have clutched it to his chest if it came from her.

"They're... per..." His voice came out rough, a slip of the truth beneath his careful mask. He cleared his throat, forcing himself into a semblance of control. "They're good, Rebecca."

Her face lit up again, the sun piercing through the clouds, and she reached for his hand, slipping one of the rings onto his ring finger.

It was slightly too small, the metal biting into his skin, but he didn't care. He'd wear it until it cut off his circulation if it meant keeping a part of her with him.

"This one's for you," she said, her smile widening, a slow bloom of joy. "And this one's for me." She slid the second ring onto her thumb and held her hand up, showing it off with pride. "Now we match."

He swallowed hard, the air too thick, his jaw tight as he looked away. "You didn't need a ring to carry a piece of me," he said, his voice a razor, rough and cutting. "You already have all of me."

"But if I don't hold onto you someday, who will?"

The words hit him like a blow, sharp and precise, and for a moment, he hated her for it-for seeing through the cracks in his armor, for daring to care when he wasn't sure he deserved it.

She sat down beside him, her small hand brushing against his. She didn't say anything else, didn't push him further.

She just sat there, wearing that crooked little ring with more pride than anyone had a right to.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, he felt something other than the crushing weight of his own existence.

"It's crooked," he said suddenly, his tone a gentle taunt, a lifeline to pull himself from the dark waters of his own thoughts.

She blinked, then looked at him with wide, scandalized eyes. "It's not!"

"It is," he insisted, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. "You're terrible at this."

She gasped, her face a mixture of outrage and amusement. "I spent hours making this for you, and you're going to insult it?"

He shrugged, leaning back with an air of practiced indifference. "I'm just telling the truth."

"You're insufferable," she muttered, crossing her arms. "But I'll make you something better one day," she said thoughtfully. "Something really special. Maybe a pendant or a carving of something you like."

She didn't understand what she had done. She didn't realize that in giving him this small piece of herself, she had tied him to her forever.

And maybe that was for the best.

"Rebecca," he said, his voice steady, a stillness to him that belied his age.

She stilled, glancing back at him with curious eyes. "Yeah?"

His fingers tightened around the edges of the book as he fought to keep his emotions in check. "Don't ever give anyone else a ring," he said, his tone deceptively light.

She tilted her head, clearly puzzled by his intensity, but eventually she chuckled. "Okay, I promise."

He relaxed slightly, though his heart still thundered in his chest. He would hold her to that promise. No matter what it took. No matter how far he had to go, he would make sure she stayed his.

𝘈𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴.

Outside, the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of crimson and gold.

She turned away, humming a soft tune to herself, already lost in her own little world.

But he stayed where he was, his gaze never leaving her.

The ring on his finger felt heavy, like a chain. But he didn't mind.

After all, chains were meant to keep things in place.

And in that moment, he realized something he would never admit out loud.

The devil might leave his mark on the ones he loved, but Rebecca... she was leaving her mark on him.