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"Don't you want to help me, Y/N?" Leaning in, his voice dripping with honey, that calm, sweet tone that he uses for none but you, and it made your stomach twist with guilt.
"You will be alright, Y/N, don't you believe me?" "I believe you. I just—"
"Y/N," his gaze turned predatory. You flinched. His patience was obviously running out, if he had any to begin with, maybe just with you.