The rush of water echoed sharply from the bathroom, fast and steady, and then, just as suddenly, it fell silent.
The door opened softly.
A wave of warm, mist-laden air spilled into the room, and through it, Yuel erged.
He wore a black silk robe, thin as a whisper—so light it was nearly transparent. The fabric clung and shifted with every step, revealing glimpses of the firm lines beneath.
The neckline dipped low, almost to his waist. As he moved, the rise and fall of his chest and the faint outline of his toned abdon flickered beneath the sheer black layer.
At his waist, a narrow ribbon was tied loosely—so precariously that it seed it might fall apart at any mont.
The hem of the robe was scandalously short.
Rory watched him, her fingers twitching unconsciously. She had the sudden, irresistible urge to tug that ribbon loose.
She already knew Yuel didn’t own a single "proper" piece of sleepwear, but sohow, each one still managed to exceed her expectations.
He really... knew exactly what he was doing.
Step by step, Yuel approached the bed.
With each footfall, deep-blue vines unfurled from beneath him, spreading silently across the floor. They crept outward, winding and weaving until they enveloped the entire room.
Leaves unfurled one by one.
Hidden among them, delicate blossoms opened in quiet succession.
Yuel reached out, his fingertips—roughened slightly by years of battle—brushing gently across Rory’s cheek.
"Rory... I’m here."
His voice was low and husky, like honey laced with sothing dangerously intoxicating. Each word seed to sink straight into her heart.
As his voice faded, the faint floral scent in the room deepened instantly.
It wasn’t cloying.
It was sothing else—sothing subtle, invasive... a fragrance that seed to slip beneath the skin, warming every inch of her, softening her from within.
Yuel leaned down.
His lips t hers.
At first, the kiss was gentle—slow, lingering, tasting.
Then, without warning, it deepened.
He parted her lips and claid the space within as though it were his by right, his presence overwhelming, deliberate—like a sovereign surveying his domain, leaving no corner untouched.
The kiss was both comfort and declaration.
Tender—yet edged with sothing possessive, sothing unwavering.
Sothing entirely his.
A slender vine crept forward as if alive, slipping silently to Rory’s waist. Its curling tendrils caught lightly at the edge of her skirt.
At the sa ti, the ribbon at Yuel’s waist loosened and fell.
The thin black robe slid from his body like lting shadow, dissolving into the dimness of the room.
The next instant, as Yuel leaned over her, Rory felt the world tilt.
It was as if she were no longer lying on a bed at all, but falling, slowly, helplessly, into a boundless snare woven from deep-blue vines and translucent petals.
A trap that was soft.
Beautiful.
And inescapable.
Yuel said nothing more.
He let his actions speak for the longing he had held back for far too long.
His kisses fell—slow, deliberate, unhurried—like a quiet storm unfolding.
The vines surrounding them seed to sense their master’s emotions.
They began to sway—slowly, languidly—like a living tide.
They climbed the bedposts, stretched across the ceiling, and sealed the space away from the outside world, enclosing everything within a private, breathing cocoon.
Now and then, a leaf would droop low, its cool tip brushing faintly across Rory’s bare skin, sending delicate shivers rippling through her.
She felt like a small, helpless boat—adrift in the deep-blue tide of longing Yuel had stirred, rising and falling with each wave.
The buds along the vines trembled in that rhythm, blooming one after another, revealing their soft, glistening cores.
Ti blurred.
At last, the surging tide ebbed.
The restless motion in the room gradually quieted, the lingering rhythm fading into stillness.
The vines settled, hanging softly around them.
Fully blood flowers released a lingering fragrance—gentle, enveloping—gathering all that had passed and tucking it away within the hush of deep blue.
Yuel rested his forehead against Rory’s.
A drop of sweat traced the sharp line of his jaw and fell, their warm breaths mingling in the space between them.
He gazed deeply into her eyes.
They shimred faintly, filled with softness, with a haze of emotion—and with his reflection.
"Rory..."
His voice was low, touched with quiet satisfaction and warmth.
"Now... from the inside out, I belong to you."
If only the fruit didn’t need to grow so soon, he thought, he might have been even happier in this mont.
Rory lay in his arms, her expression soft.
Her fingers traced gently along his brows and eyes before she leaned forward to press a light kiss to his forehead.
"Yuel... I have a gift for you."
She reached into her storage ring and took out a finely crafted gift box, placing it in his hands.
Yuel accepted it carefully and opened it.
The mont the lid lifted, his eyes widened in shock.
"Rory... you made this for ?"
He had seen the photo Nix shared in the group chat.
He knew she had been carving sothing.
But he had assud it was ant for Nix.
He didn’t imagine that it was for him.
"I promised I’d give you a gift a long ti ago," Rory said softly. "I just hadn’t finished it until now."
She pointed at the tiny figures inside. "This is you. This is . And this is our Terry. Do you like it?"
Yuel’s gaze followed her finger, slowly—almost stiffly.
From the lifelike miniature of himself... to the gentle, smiling version of Rory beside it... and finally, to the small, chubby little Terry perched above them...
The world seed to fall silent.
Sothing struck deep inside his chest.
Hard.
His eyes locked onto the three tiny figures nestled together.
Warmth surged uncontrollably upward, his vision blurring as a thin veil of moisture gathered in his eyes.
He wanted to smile—to give her the sa bright expression he had worn before.
But his lips wouldn’t move.
He wanted to speak, to tell her that "like" wasn’t nearly enough.
But his throat felt tight, as if sothing burning had lodged there, leaving him unable to form even a single word.
All his composure, his control, his effortless calm—shattered completely in that mont.
"Yuel... what’s wrong?" Rory asked softly, uncertainty flickering in her voice. "Don’t you like it?"
Yuel closed the box carefully, placing it aside with the utmost care—as though it were sothing too precious to risk even the slightest harm.
Then he lifted his head.
His eyes were red, filled to the brim with sothing fierce and overwhelming.
They locked onto Rory.
The next second, he pulled her into his arms.
Hard.
The embrace was tight, almost desperate, trembling with emotion—so strong it felt as though he wanted to press her into himself, into bone and blood, so they would never part again.
He buried his face against her neck, breathing her in deeply, urgently, as though anchoring himself to her presence.
Warm tears slipped silently from the corners of his eyes.
After a long while, he finally found his voice. "Rory..." It was hoarse, unsteady, each word dragged out from sowhere deep within him. "I think...I want to hide you away even more now."
His voice trembled faintly, thick with sothing he could no longer contain.
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