He was still on the floor, eyes shut tight as he tried to curl further in the body pinning him in place. Unbearable warmth, untouchable softness, unbelievable calm. Not his. Never his. Always his. His home, his safety, his place to curl into when the world was cruel. Why had he been so eager to chase the cruelty? Because he enjoyed it, didn't he? He always had to prove that he was right. That he was unloveable. That he should be hated. So easy to hate.