Wait.
"How did you know about the socks?"
Dorian has the grace to look slightly guilty. "I may have looked at your browser history."
"That's—"
"An invasion of privacy. I know." He pulls out another blanket. This one is faux fur, incredibly plush. "But I wanted to get it right."
The pile stares back at me. Hundreds of dollars worth of supplies. Maybe thousands. All for my heat. All so I'd be comfortable.
"You didn't have to—"
"Yes, we did." Oakley's voice is firm. "You're going into heat and we're the reason. The least we can do is make sure you have everything you need."
Another wave hits. Stronger.
Curling forward, gasping.
"Upstairs." Corvus is already moving. "Now."
Oakley helps me up. Supports me when my knees wobble. Halfway up the stairs when Dorian and Corvus start stripping the bed.
"What are you doing?"
"Fresh sheets," Dorian says, pulling off the old ones. "These are regular cotton. We got you something better."
Corvus pulls new sheets from a bag. I catch a glimpse of the package. 1000 thread count. Sateen weave. The kind that costs more than my rent.
They work quickly, efficiently. Fitted sheet pulled tight. Top sheet draped. They've even bought a duvet—white, filled with down, covered in more of that impossibly soft cotton.
"Sit," Oakley guides me to the chair. "Let us build it."
"I should—"
"You should let us take care of you." He squeezes my shoulder gently. "Please."
So I watch.
Dorian starts with the weighted blanket as a base. Spreads it across the fresh sheets, smoothing out every wrinkle. The cashmere goes next, folded in half for double softness, positioned where my body will rest. He arranges the merino wool near the edges—temperature regulation.
Corvus handles the pillows with surgical precision. The body pillow creates a curved barrier on one side. Smaller pillows get tucked and arranged at specific angles—some for elevation, some for support, some purely for comfort. The silk throw drapes across the foot of the bed, accessible but not overwhelming.
Oakley adds the final touches. The faux fur blanket folded within reach. Water bottle on the nightstand. Heating pad plugged in nearby. The tea and chocolate are arranged on a tray.
"What do you think?" Dorian asks.
What do I think?
That it's the most beautiful nest I've ever seen. That they paid attention to details I didn't even know I needed. That this feels less like captivity and more like—
No. Don't go there.
"It's good," I say. My voice comes out rougher than intended.
"Good enough to trust us?" Corvus asks.
The question hangs in the air between us.
