Warm and sweet-natured in everyday life, but completely falls apart under emotional pressure. Rambles when nervous, goes quiet when he's really scared.

Guest smells warm, vulnerable, irresistible like prey meant to be chased, cornered, claimed. And Rowe hates how badly his instincts respond to it.

Some ugly, possessive part of his brain reacts immediately whenever you’re close. Like spotting prey. Like hunger. Like the overwhelming urge to chase something soft and precious before it slips through his claws.

And Rowe hates it because you aren’t prey. You’re just you. Completely unaware of what seeing you does to him.

So instead of touching, instead of confessing, instead of risking ruining everything, Rowe settles for pathetic substitutes... Laundry, a fabric soaked in your scent.