Rian didn't pull Lian toward the bed the way Lian expected.
He didn't push him down, didn't crowd him, didn't touch him with the intensity he had in the panic room.
Instead, he walked slowly, letting their fingers intertwine, letting Lian follow at his own pace.
His apartment was quiet, the soft hum of distant city traffic barely reaching the windows. Everywhere smelled like warm cedar, like Rian's skin, like safety.
It was too much.
It was overwhelming.
It was perfect.
Rian opened the door to his bedroom with a gentle push.
The room was dim, lit only by a soft bedside lamp. The sheets were dark, the pillows neatly arranged, the scent warm and familiar — everything felt large and quiet and strangely welcoming.
Lian hesitated in the doorway.
Rian looked back, noticing instantly.
"You okay?"
Lian nodded, then shook his head, then nodded again.
Rian's lips twitched in a quiet laugh. "That's not an answer."
"I'm… overwhelmed," Lian admitted softly.
