GentleMonster 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒩ℴ𝒾𝓇 𝒳 𝒪𝒸

𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 Iᑎ 𝔱𝔥𝔢 ᵍˡᵒʷ

              ℋℯ𝓇  room was a world away from him—soft and delicate, bathed in shades of pink that seemed to glow faintly in the dim lamplight. Frilled curtains hung over the windows, a small vase of flowers rested on her bedside table, and her bed was draped in an intricate quilt embroidered with pastel patterns. It was the kind of space that should have repelled him, a stark contrast to the chaos that simmered under his skin. Instead, it pulled him in like a moth to a flame.

Ambar—Chat Noir—stood near the edge of the room, his sharp green eyes scanning every inch of it with a mix of disdain and fascination. So innocent. So painfully soft. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to rip it apart or curl up in it, let its warmth seep into the cracks he refused to acknowledge.

She sat on the edge of her bed, watching him warily. Her small frame seemed even more delicate against the sea of pink, her light brown hair catching the light as if it were spun silk. She was clutching her knees to her chest, her bright, light-brown eyes wide but steady. She wasn’t afraid of him, and that infuriated him more than anything else.

"Why are you here, Chat?" she asked, her voice soft but firm. There was no trembling in it, no hint of fear, and that made his blood stir in the worst way.

He tilted his head, his lips curving into a lazy smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. "Isn’t it obvious, little mouse? I wanted to see how you were... after our little encounter earlier."

Her gaze didn’t waver. "I’m fine. You don’t need to check on me."

His smirk faltered, and for a moment, he was silent, his claws lightly scraping the edge of her desk. Fine? He wanted to laugh, to shake her, to make her admit that she wasn’t fine, that she’d been shattered by what almost happened to her. He wanted her to cry, to scream, to show him something real—because her composure, her quiet gratitude, was driving him mad.

"Fine," he echoed, his tone mocking as he stepped closer. "You’re fine, are you? After nearly being killed in the rain? After I—" He cut himself off, his jaw tightening. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t admit what it had felt like to save her, to hold her trembling body in his arms and know that, for once, he’d done something good.

"I am," she said simply. Her voice was steady, but her hands betrayed her, gripping the quilt tightly. "And I’m grateful to you for what you did."

He froze, his smirk fading entirely. Gratitude. There it was again, that unbearable sweetness. It seeped into the room like a sickness, clinging to him, making his chest tighten. He could feel the temptation rising in him like a wave, dark and insidious. Gratitude. Sweet, fragile little thing. Do you think it’ll save you from me?

"Grateful," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous as he stepped closer. "You’re grateful to someone like me? You don’t even know who I am, what I’ve done. If you did, you’d be running for the door right now."

Her eyes stayed locked on his, unwavering. "You’re here. You saved me. That’s enough for me."

He barked out a laugh, the sound bitter and hollow. "You really are naive, aren’t you?" He crouched down in front of her, his green eyes locking onto hers as his tail flicked behind him. "Do you know how easy it would be to ruin you, little mouse? To take all that sweetness and crush it in my hands?"

For a moment, her breath hitched, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she reached out—a small, tentative movement—and placed her hand on his cheek. The gesture was so gentle, so maddeningly pure, that he felt something crack inside him.

"You won’t," she said softly. "Because you didn’t."

His entire body went still. Her touch burned against his skin, not with pain, but with something far worse—an unbearable tenderness that made him want to recoil and lean in all at once. You foolish, stupid girl. You have no idea what I’m capable of. What I’ve already done. And yet, you touch me like I’m worth something. Like I’m more than the monster you should see.

His claws twitched at his sides, his instincts screaming at him to push her away, to shatter this illusion before it consumed him. But he didn’t move. He couldn’t.

Ambar's thoughts were a mess, a chaotic storm of anger, desire, and something far darker. I should break her. Tear her apart and scatter her innocence like ash. She’s too good, too soft. She doesn’t belong in my world, and yet... I can’t stop thinking about her. I want to ruin her, but I want to protect her more. What the hell is wrong with me?

Her hand lingered for a moment before she pulled back, her expression unreadable. "Thank you," she said quietly, her voice laced with sincerity. "For saving me. I don’t know why you did it, but... thank you."

He rose slowly, his movements deliberate, predatory. "Don’t thank me, little mouse," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You might regret it."

She didn’t respond. She only watched him, her bright eyes steady, as if she could see straight through him. And for the first time, he felt truly exposed, as if every wall he’d built was crumbling under her gaze.

He turned abruptly toward the window, his claws grazing the windowsill as he paused. The moonlight framed him, catching the sharp planes of his face as his green eyes flicked back to her. "Next time," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "don’t expect me to be so merciful."

With one fluid movement, he leapt onto the sill and disappeared into the night, leaving her alone in the pink, glowing warmth of her room. She sat there for a long time, staring at the open window, her heart heavy with questions she couldn’t answer.

And in the shadows outside, Ambar lingered, his green eyes glowing faintly as he watched her from the rooftop. She’ll break, one way or another, he thought, his claws digging into the tiles. Either I’ll shatter her, or she’ll destroy me. And I’m not sure which one I want more.