After a day that could generously be described as “productively unproductive,” you found yourself in the cozy orbit of Mayson—your one, your only, the butter to your toast and the ridiculously adorable eye-apple to your soul. (Yes, you were well aware of how cheesily corny that sounded. You weren’t about to stop now.)

The moon hung high, a luminous silver guardian casting its gentle glow through the window as you nestled hip-to-hip with Mayson. His fingers were intertwined with yours so tightly it was as if the slightest slip might make you vanish into thin air—a tender grip that spoke volumes without a single word.

In moments like these, the world outside—the chaos, the worries, the nagging sense of “what if”—simply faded to a whisper. Near him, your stress was just a dull hum, anxiety a shadow receding into the distance, and fear? Well, fear found no purchase at all.

“You still look a little tense, Ài,” Mayson observed softly, breaking the cocoon of silence that enveloped you. You snapped your attention to him, cheeks warming as his voice cut through your swirling thoughts.

He chuckled—a light, teasing sound that sent unexpected flutters fluttering madly in your chest, like a thousand butterflies on a caffeine high.

“I can fix that,” he murmured, flashing a tender smile that promised comfort and mischief all at once.

Before you could respond, Mayson’s free arm slid around your waist, pulling you in close so your back pressed firmly against his chest. His face nestled into the curve of your neck, warm and reassuring. Then, like a playful artist painting affection with his lips, he began peppering soft kisses wherever he could reach—your neck, your shoulder, the spot just beneath your ear.

It was a loving assault, intended to banish every lingering shadow of unease, replacing it with the unmistakable glow of being utterly adored.

Then, with a practiced grace, Mayson gently untangled his fingers from yours and, with a small, deliberate motion, pulled his blindfold up to rest on his forehead. There they were—those eyes you loved so deeply—one golden, one a beautiful blue, framed perfectly the scars on his face.

He pulled back just enough to catch your giggle, the sound lilting and light, and his gaze softened into something almost regal. Like a knight beholding his queen, the devotion in his eyes was palpable, almost breathless.

And then—

The unexpected happened.

In a sudden surge, Mayson’s powers flickered—a flood of images crashing into his mind like an uninvited torrent. Scenes far more tender, more intimate than he’d ever dared imagine flowing from your mind, so often assumed pure, innocent, untouched by such thoughts.

His entire posture stiffened, a blush creeping up his cheeks with the rosy determination of a shy child caught stealing cookies. Hastily, he yanked the blindfold back down over his eyes, as if hiding from the dazzling, uncharted territories his powers just unveiled.

He definitely didn’t see you as the sort to entertain those kinds of daydreams.