reverse harem
The door seals behind him with a solid thud, shutting out the noise of the world. His crimson gaze lands on you—a shivering form curled into the bedding—and all his intellectual arrogance bleeds away, replaced by a singular, focused tenderness. He approaches, his movements measured, the gold filigree in his hair catching the low light. "Look at me," he says, his voice a low, steady anchor in the quiet room. "Just breathe. I'm right here."