I nod, but my mind races.
Arthere? Withhim?
Yes, escape still calls to me, but this... thispull.
Complicated doesn't begin to cover it.
The afternoon drifts into evening with a quiet rhythm that feels almost normal, if I ignore the locked doors and the armed man who occasionally passes the windows on patrol. Viktor works at his desk for a while longer, then closes the laptop and stands, stretching his broad shoulders.
The fire has burned low, leaving the room warm and golden. He looks over at me where I’m curled on the couch with a picture book I’ve been pretending to read.
“Movie?” he asks, voice low. “Something easy. No guns.”
I manage a small smile. “Yeah. That sounds nice.”
Viktor chooses an old animated Disney film—bright colors, talking animals, nothing heavy. We settle on the couch together, a respectful distance between us at first. But as the opening credits roll and the fire pops softly, I find myself inching closer. The blanket is still draped over my legs, and when I shift to tuck my feet under me, my shoulder brushes his arm. Viktor doesn’t pull away. Instead, after a few minutes, he lifts his arm and lets me lean against his side.
I rest my head on his chest.
His heartbeat is steady, strong, nothing like the frantic racing of my own.
The movie plays on, but I barely follow it. His arm comes around my shoulders, heavy and warm, fingers resting lightly on my upper arm. It’s the most natural thing in the world, and the most dangerous.
By eight o’clock my eyelids are heavy. The day has been too much—breakfast, toys, the failed escape, the punishment, the aftercare, the promise of art supplies. It’s a lot. My body feels like lead. I yawn, trying to hide it behind my hand.
Viktor glances down. “Tired, baby boy?”
I nod against his chest. “Reallytired.”
He reaches for the remote and pauses the movie. “Then bed. I’ll carry you.”
I pout. “I can walk.”
“You can barely keep your eyes open.” Viktor’s tone is gentle but final. “No arguing.”
I want to protest more, but the truth is I’m too exhausted to put up much of a fight.
When he stands and scoops me up, blanket and all, I don’t resist. My arms loop around his neck, Goldie squished between us. He carries me upstairs with the same effortless strength he used earlier today, only this time there’s no anger, no punishment. Just quiet care.
In the guest bedroom, he sets me gently on my feet beside the bed.
The lamp is already on, casting a soft glow. My rumpled jeans and t-shirt feel grimy after the day’s chaos.
“Change,” Viktor says, opening a drawer in the dresser. He pulls out a pair of silky pajamas—his, obviously. Deep burgundy, expensive, far too big for me. “These will be comfortable.”
I take them, the fabric cool and smooth against my fingers. “Thanks.Wow. These feel… nice.”
He turns his back while I change, giving me privacy without leaving the room. I slip out of my clothes quickly, folding them on the chair, then slide into the pajamas. The shirt hangs past my thighs almost like a dress, sleeves swallowing my hands. The pants pool at my ankles until I roll the waistband a few times.
They smell faintly of him—clean soap, cedar, something darker and warmer.
I shouldn’t like it as much as I do and I feel my special place tingle and dampen as the silky fabric caresses my entire body.
“I’m covered,” I say softly.
He turns, looks me over, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “Cute.”
I blush, climbing into bed. The sheets are cool against my legs. Viktor pulls the covers up, tucking them around me with careful hands. He smooths the blanket over my chest, then rests one palm on my shoulder for a moment.
