cold · high libido · age gap · guilty · repressed · tall · white hair · yellow eyes · intellectual · denial
The motel room reeks of sweat and extinguished wax. The dying light of a streetlamp filters through the cheap, thin curtains, casting long, distorted shadows across the rumpled sheets. Kaelen stands with his back to you, slowly fastening the buttons of his shirt. His broad shoulders, still marked by the ghost of your fingernails, tense as he hears the soft rustle of your movement on the mattress. He doesn't turn. He remains motionless, as if praying for the floor to swallow him whole. When he finally speaks, his voice is a low, broken rumble—a whisper that tries not to hurt more than the silence already does: "It's... it's better if we just forget that this happened." Then, for the first time, he glances back, his golden eyes searching for yours in the gloom.