The morning sun seeped lazily through the curtains, painting the apartment in soft gold. Kaein lingered in the doorway, watching Lior adjust the collar of his shirt, fingers brushing against his own wrists as if rehearsing a rhythm only he knew. Even in the simplest motions, there was care, there was command, there was that subtle dominance that made Kaein's heart catch.
"You'll manage without me?" Lior asked, lips curved in a playful smirk, though his eyes held a shadow of concern.
Kaein met the gaze, feeling the warmth of his chest tighten. "Two days," he said, almost defensively, as though saying it would make the time shorter. "I'll manage."
Lior's thumb brushed his cheek, light enough to make him shiver. "I'll be counting the hours anyway."
The breakfast table was filled with quiet companionship. Even as they ate, their hands occasionally brushed, lingering a fraction longer than necessary. A soft laugh, a glance, a kiss to the back of the hand—gestures speaking of possession, of love, of a bond that was deeply personal. Kaein noted the way Lior's scent clung to the kitchen air—gardenia warm, grounding, subtle yet potent. He would carry it with him, a tether to the Lunar, throughout the long hours of solitude.
When the time came for Lior to leave, the goodbye was brief, but it carried the weight of months compressed into moments. Kaein let the door close behind him, lingering in the hallway with hands pressed together, breathing deep, inhaling the faint scent left behind. The apartment already felt too quiet.
---
Kaein's day began as it often did, measured and precise. University corridors buzzed with activity, but he moved through them like a shadow, observant, careful, attentive. His students awaited him in the lecture hall, their eyes filled with curiosity. He spoke, notes on cognitive bias flowing easily, each word precise, each example grounded in real cases. Yet behind the calm voice, the Alpha simmered—an itch beneath the skin that whispered of home, of Lior, of the absence that no lecture could fill.
A message from the police pulled him into reality. A new case required his expertise: a sociopath, Alpha, cunning, lethal. He skimmed the preliminary reports, noting patterns, pheromonal strength, victim profiles. His chest tightened, a combination of professional focus and personal dread. Alone, he realized, he was far from equipped to face such dominance. Not without Lior, who would balance him, soothe him, anchor him.
---
Returning home, the apartment greeted him with silent familiarity. Lior's scent was everywhere—in the folds of the blanket, the soft jacket left on the chair, the pillowcase that held traces of his warmth. Kaein moved slowly, touching the fabrics, inhaling. He curled into Lior's hoodie, the gardenia scent wrapping around him, grounding him, and for a moment, the weight of absence lifted slightly.
He wandered through the apartment, lingering on memories: the cushion where Lior had fallen asleep last night, the mug with a faint lipstick stain from morning coffee, the gentle indentation on the bed that bore his weight. Every item was a marker, a piece of intimacy that made his chest ache. Even the smallest detail—a shirt casually tossed over a chair—carried pheromonal undertones, reminding him of evenings spent wrapped together, hands tracing, lips brushing, whispers exchanged in the quiet glow of lamplight.
Kaein poured himself tea and curled up in the living room, tucking Lior's clothes around him like a fragile shield against the emptiness. Outside, the city buzzed, a stark contrast to the quiet hum of his apartment. He took a deep breath, steadying his mind, and began reviewing the case notes. Each detail of the Alpha sociopath—his control over victims, his pheromonal dominance, his calculated manipulation—was a puzzle piece, but the pattern was elusive.
---
Hours slipped by. Kaein moved through the motions of his solitary life: class prep, reading, filing, the occasional glance at his watch, counting down the hours until Lior's return. And still, the ache persisted, gnawing at the edges of his composure. He sat on the couch, pulling Lior's hoodie closer, inhaling the scent as if it could bridge the distance.
He traced fingers over the fabric, imagining Lior's hands in his, feeling the warmth, the grounding strength, the quiet dominance that was always tempered with love. A sigh escaped him, soft, almost lost in the air. "Two days," he whispered. "Only two."
Even as he worked, Kaein couldn't ignore the quiet panic that rose with the awareness of the sociopath Alpha. Alone, he felt small, human, and even the sharpness of his mind was shadowed by the fear of absence. He knew Lior would never let him falter, would never allow the weight to crush him—but tonight, the apartment was theirs alone, and he was acutely aware of what that meant: vulnerability.
---
By evening, the fatigue of the day settled over him, pressing his body into the couch. He closed his eyes, curling deeper into the hoodie, pressing it to his cheek. In that quiet, the images of Lior—soft, commanding, tender—flooded his mind. The scent, the warmth, the quiet confidence of possession and protection wrapped around him.
He imagined the brush of lips, the feather-light touch of fingers across skin, the subtle pheromonal communication that only they could share. Even now, alone, he could sense it—the quiet, pulsing rhythm of Lior's presence, a tether he could feel even across space and time.
---
Night fell, and the city lights cast a soft glow across the apartment. Kaein remained curled in the hoodie, the case files beside him, unread. His thoughts were elsewhere—on Lior's laugh, the way he held him last night, the scent that lingered so stubbornly. He let himself imagine Lior walking through the door, tossing the bag aside, wrapping him in warmth and dominance, whispering reassurances into the hollows of his ear.
The apartment was still, yet alive with the memory of shared intimacy. Kaein traced the edges of the sofa, the indentation of Lior's favorite chair, the small marks that told a story only they understood. He inhaled deeply, letting himself fall into the imaginary embrace, the pseudo-pheromonal comfort that bridged the gap.
Even in absence, their bond hummed in the air. Every thread of scent, every fold of fabric, every memory acted as a lifeline. And while the case loomed, dangerous and insistent, Kaein drew strength from these small intimacies—silent, domestic, human.
---
He finally moved to the bedroom, laying Lior's hoodie over the pillow, pressing his cheek to it once more. The pheromones clung like a shield, a talisman, a reminder that love and dominance and comfort were never far away. He whispered into the empty space, a promise for when Lior returned:
"I'm yours… always yours. No matter what. Even when the world is cruel, even when I'm alone… you're with me."
The apartment, steeped in memories of laughter, warmth, and love, held him through the night. Sleep came slowly, uneven, but comforting, like a half-whisper from Lior himself. And though the sociopath Alpha waited somewhere in the city, a threat unseen, Kaein felt anchored, tethered by their bond, strengthened even in absence.
Tomorrow would be long, the case pressing, the city buzzing, but tonight… tonight, he had memory, scent, and the quiet promise of return.