King Von Imagines

Love Me Less

Word Count~1170

Kyla had always been strong. She had to be. Life never gave her much choice. But losing her cousin—her best friend, her second half—had shattered something in her. She didn't know how to carry the weight of her grief alone, so she leaned on Von. He was her safe place, her anchor. And at first, he was there.

But things had changed.

She knew it the second she walked into their penthouse late that night, exhaustion clinging to her bones from a shift that felt longer than it was. The scent of smoke and liquor filled the air, voices overlapping in a mix of laughter and low conversation. She would've smiled, happy to see Von surrounded by his people, but then she heard it—her name, laced with frustration in his voice.

"She just been... I don't know, man. All up under me lately. It's like, I can't even move without her right there."

Durk chuckled, shaking his head. "She grieving, bro. You know how that go."

"I get it, but damn. I just need some space. She different now. Clingy as hell."

The words hit like a punch to the chest. Kyla stood frozen in the doorway, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. Clingy? She had lost someone she loved, someone who had been there her whole life, and all she wanted was to feel close to him—to Von. And here he was, complaining about her needing him too much.

She didn't say a word. She turned and left, letting the door close softly behind her.

Days passed.

She changed, just like he wanted. The good morning kisses stopped. She no longer curled up against him when they laid in bed. When he left, she didn't ask when he'd be back. She stopped waiting up for him. The house felt colder, emptier, but she figured that's what he wanted—space.

At first, Von didn't notice. Not really. He enjoyed the silence, the lack of weight on his shoulders. But then, something felt... off.

He caught himself staring at his phone, waiting for a "Where you at?" text that never came. When he walked in the door, the smell of her cooking wasn't there. No soft music playing in the background as she danced around the kitchen. She wasn't wrapped up in his hoodies, lounging around the house waiting for him to pull her close.

She wasn't Kyla anymore. At least, not his Kyla.

One night, he came in late, expecting to find her curled up on the couch waiting for him. Instead, she was in their bed, facing away from him, her body stiff. He slid in beside her, hesitating before reaching out. His fingers brushed over her arm, light, testing. She didn't move.

"You up?" he asked, voice low.

Nothing.

Guilt clawed at him. He had asked for space, and she had given it to him. But now, he hated it. He missed her. Missed the way she'd press into him like he was the only thing holding her together. Missed the way she'd whisper little things about her day, even if he wasn't really listening. Missed how much she **loved** him. And now, she was slipping away, and he had no one to blame but himself.

"Kyla..." he murmured, pressing his forehead against her shoulder. "I ain't mean that shit. I swear."

Still, she didn't move.

And that's when Von realized—maybe, just maybe, it was already too late.

---

The Funeral Came and Went.

Von didn't even know when it was happening. Kyla never mentioned it, never asked him to come, never even left the obituary on the counter like she used to with important mail. She handled everything with her family, and he was left out, just like he'd unknowingly asked to be.

That evening, he was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone absentmindedly when the front door opened. He looked up, and there she was—dressed in all black, heels clicking softly against the floor. Her makeup was subtle but worn, like she had spent hours holding back tears but still let a few slip. In her hand, she clutched a folded obituary.

For a moment, Von thought she might say something. That she might finally let him back in. But she only met his gaze with a dismissive glance, her expression unreadable, before heading straight to the bedroom. The door clicked shut behind her.

Minutes later, she emerged in a different outfit—jeans and a fitted top, her hair quickly fixed into a neater style. She grabbed her purse without a word.

"Where you goin'?" Von asked, sitting up.

She barely spared him a glance. "With my family."

Then she was gone again, leaving behind nothing but silence and the faint scent of her perfume.

Von leaned forward, rubbing his hands together as he let out a deep breath. He had never felt this helpless before. The one person he swore he'd never lose was slipping right through his fingers, and the worst part was—he had no idea how to fix it.

---

Breaking Point.

Von couldn't take it anymore. When Kyla came back home later that night, he stood up, blocking her way before she could disappear into the bedroom again.

"Yo, stop," he said, grabbing her wrist gently but firmly. "Stop acting like I ain't here. Like I don't care."

She ripped her arm away, eyes blazing. "You don't care, Von! You made that clear!"

His jaw clenched. "That's not fair, Kyla. I never meant—"

"Never meant what?" she snapped. "Never meant to make me feel like I was too much? Like I was suffocating you? Like I was some burden you couldn't wait to get rid of?"

Von felt his chest tighten. "That ain't what I meant—"

"I NEEDED YOU!" she shouted, her voice cracking, her fists clenching at her sides. "I lost my cousin! My best friend! And all I wanted was for you to be there, to make me feel like I wasn't alone! But you—you pushed me away! You made me feel like I was annoying, like my grief was too heavy for you to deal with!"

Her breath was ragged, tears spilling freely down her cheeks now. "And then? Then you get mad when I finally give you the space you wanted?"

Von stared at her, his throat tight, his own eyes stinging. Seeing her like this—this broken, this angry, this hurt—it gutted him.

Without thinking, he pulled her into his chest, his arms wrapping around her tightly as she sobbed. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I swear to God, I'm sorry, Ky."

She fought against him at first, weakly pushing at his chest, but eventually, she collapsed into him, gripping his shirt as she let out everything she'd been holding in. He held her through it, his own tears threatening to fall, because seeing her like this—

It was something he wasn't used to.

And he hated himself for being the reason behind it.