I watched him finish wrapping my foot.
Careful. Precise.
Like he was handling something fragile—not dangerous, not owned.
“Ouch…” I hissed when he tightened the bandage just a little.
“I know,” he said immediately, loosening it. “I’ve got you.”
The white bedsheet beneath me was still spotless.
Not a single stain of blood.
I noticed that.
Somehow… he had handled everything so calmly, so perfectly, that even the chaos had left no mark behind.
Another crack of thunder split the sky.
I flinched hard.
My voice came out small. Honest. Almost embarrassed.
“karl…”
I hesitated, then whispered, “sleep next to me.”
He froze.
“I’m afraid of lightning,” I admitted quickly, cheeks warm. “And… can I just—”
I lifted my hand slightly.
“Can I hold your pinky finger when we sleep?”
Silence.
Heavy rain poured outside, wind howling, curtains dancing wildly. Lightning flashed again, lighting up his face—and for a moment, he looked stunned.
“You’re asking me,” he said slowly, “for my pinky?”
I nodded. “Just that. Nothing else.”
Another thunderclap roared. My fingers curled nervously into the sheet.
“And my foot really hurts,” I added quietly. “I think… maybe I won’t be able to walk properly tomorrow.”
That did it.
Karl exhaled deeply, like he’d been holding his breath for days.
He removed his shoes, then his jacket, placing them neatly aside. He walked to the bed—not rushing, not hesitant—and lay down beside me, leaving a careful space between us.
“I’m here,” he said.
He extended his hand.
Just his pinky.
I hooked mine around it instantly, like a child clinging to the edge of safety.
Thunder rolled again—but this time, I didn’t scream.
His finger tightened around mine just a little.
“You’re not weak for being scared,” he said quietly, staring at the ceiling. “Storms scare people who feel deeply.”
I turned my face toward him, eyes heavy.
“You didn’t have to,” I murmured.
“I wanted to,” he replied.
Rain softened, turning gentle, steady.
My breathing slowed.
“I still think you’re a monster,” I whispered sleepily.
A pause.
“Fair,” he said.
Then, after a moment, his voice dropped—low, sincere.
“But tonight… this monster stays.”
I drifted off like that—
pinky to pinky, storm outside, safety beside me.
And karl Casanova lay awake, staring into the dark, realizing something dangerous and irreversible:
He had never been asked for so little
and given so much of himself in return.
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