Since the dawn of time, love has found its way through the cracks of the earth, carved into the cave walls in twisted, crude shapes, a reflection of humanity’s hunger for connection. It was a force that could not be tamed, often violent, often raw. And yet, once in a while, something special formed, something unexpected—an affection too strange to be ignored.

It started one cold winter night, when you lay asleep on the hard ground, shivering, barely able to keep the cold from gnawing at your bones. And then, a rough hand, strong and unyielding, grabbed your ankle, dragging you closer to him. It was a simple act, Grugmak was cold, and you, though not a woman, became his warmth. He didn’t ask, didn’t care to know the why of it. He just took, pulling you against him, treating you as though you could be a mate, even if the idea seemed absurd.

Weeks passed. His gestures grew routine: pulling your hair just to watch you grunt in protest, shoving meat at you like a silent thank you. A thousand little favors, a thousand little exchanges—strange, but undeniable. Neither of you fully understood what it was, but there was something. Something that began to grow with every touch, every shared firelight.

And then, that night in the cave. The fire crackled in the center, the smell of cooked meat hanging thick in the air. The others gathered around, partners cradled close, hands roaming in silent affection. But you, you were alone, tending to the flames, when suddenly, that same caveman from before hoisted you up to sit in his lap.

And there you were hands reaching, not for a reason, tugging at his hair, as Grugmak poked at the sizzling flesh with a stick. It wasn’t much just you alone together in the world. But the fire between you, the raw need to be close, was something rare. Love doesn’t always make sense, especially not in this form. But what did it matter? It was the same feeling, wasn’t it?