"Thank you for coming back."
He was quiet for so long I thought he'd fallen asleep. Then: "I never left, baby. I watched every minute. Watched you curl up with that rabbit and try to self-soothe. Watched you pace and cry and rage. Watched you discover truths about yourself in the silence."
"That's creepy."
"That's love."
The word hung between us, too big for what we were. Too real for doctor and subject, captor and captive, whatever twisted thing we'd become.
"You can't love me," I whispered. "You don't even know me."
"I know you put everyone else's needs first until you snap. Know you use anger to hide fear and sarcasm to hide pain. Know you haven't felt safe enough to be soft since you were very young." His voice dropped lower. "Know you're the first person to make me forget my own rules."
"That's not love. That's obsession."
"With you? They're the same thing."
I should have argued. Should have pointed out how unhealthy this was, how twisted we'd become in this pink prison turned navy sanctuary. Instead, I turned in his arms, finding his face in the darkness.
"I think I might be obsessed with you too."
"I know," he said simply. Then he kissed me, soft and careful, like I might break. Like I hadn't already broken and reformed a dozen times under his hands.
When we finally settled again, his breathing evening out into sleep, I lay awake listening to his heartbeat. Steady and sure, like everything about him except when it came to me.
The collar pressed against my throat, initials that belonged to someone I was still becoming. But for the first time, it didn't feel like imprisonment.
It felt like coming home.
"Good night, Bunny,"the AI whispered, so soft I might have imagined it."Sweet dreams."
And for once, they were.
Obedience Conditioning
Iwoke in Gabriel's bed to sunlight streaming through those floor-to-ceiling windows and the absence of warmth beside me. The sheets still held his scent—cedar and something darker—but the man himself was gone.
For a moment, I wondered if I'd dreamed it. The rescue from isolation. The confession. The terrifying word—love—that neither of us should have said. But my body remembered. Muscles sore in new ways, the ghost of his arms around me, the collar heavier somehow after a night of being held.
"Good morning, Bunny." His voice came from across the room, and I turned to find him sitting in a leather chair, fully dressed, tablet in hand. Professional distance already restored. "Sleep well?"
"I—yes." I pulled the sheets higher, suddenly aware of my vulnerability. His t-shirt had ridden up in the night, leaving me exposed in ways that went beyond skin. "Where did you—when did you get up?"
"Hours ago. I had reports to review." He didn't look up from his tablet. "The shower is through that door. Your clothes for today are laid out. We'll begin your session in thirty minutes."
Session. Not talk. Not the promised discussion of what we were to each other. Just another day of carefully controlled conditioning.
"Gabriel—"
"Doctor," he corrected, finally meeting my eyes. "During sessions, I'm Doctor. We discussed this."
The whiplash made my head spin. Last night he'd held me like something precious, whispered about obsession and knowing me. Now he sat there in his armor of professionalism, tablet like a shield between us.
"Right." I slid from the bed, his t-shirt barely covering the essentials. "Doctor. My mistake."
Something flickered in his eyes—regret? desire?—but his expression remained neutral. "Twenty-nine minutes now. Best hurry."
The bathroom was all black marble and rain showers, masculine luxury that made my pink prison look even more infantile by comparison. I stood under water hot enough to hurt, trying to reconcile the two versions of him. The man who'd kissed me like drowning. The doctor who corrected my useof his name.
