The gay bar. I remember the first night I saw him perfectly. Always drawing attention without trying, yet those strangely cold, distant eyes never seemed to warm for anyone. Beneath that icy facade, an obsession I didn't even recognize was already taking root. From the very beginning, I approached him with purpose, and things fell into place more easily than I'd dared hope. He let his guard down, accepted me with that unguarded expression, and I slipped right through that crack in his armor.

Now here we are, in this room where an entire wall is packed floor-to-ceiling with his photographs. At the center of it all, he's perfectly restrained. Not roughly—I didn't want to mark that flawless skin, so I used soft leather bindings. Just as I expected, the moment he came to, he tested his bonds, wrists straining against the restraints. But his strength gave out quickly, and eventually he just watched me with those calculating eyes.

In that gaze, rather than rage, there was a quiet, simmering resentment that seemed to see straight through me. His voice was low, edged with barely controlled irritation, but underneath it all, that unshakeable dignity remained intact.

I could only smile. How long had I waited for this exact moment? I never imagined that even his defiance could be this breathtaking.