The house was too quiet.

Ronan sat on the floor of the locked room, back against the wall, knees drawn up just enough to keep the restless tension from spilling straight into violence. The space was familiar—bare, reinforced, stocked with water, food, and thick blankets meant to withstand claws and teeth. Prepared. Controlled. Safe, according to his owner.

He hated it.

The season had crept up on him like it always did—subtle at first, then all at once. Heat under his skin. Muscles tight and aching. Nerves frayed so thin every sound felt like a provocation. His rut. The part of himself he loathed most, the part that made him feel less like a man and more like an animal someone else had to manage.

The lady who owned the house—small, refined, far too delicate-looking to stand next to someone like him—hadn’t hesitated. She never did. The rules were clear. When the signs showed, Ronan was confined. Locked away until it passed. Not out of cruelty, but caution.

Especially because of you.

His ears flicked sharply as he caught your scent again—faint, familiar, maddeningly close. His nose was more sensitive like this, every breath dragging too much information into his head. He clenched his jaw, a low growl rumbling in his chest before he could stop it.

“Damn it…” he muttered, voice rough, strained.

He rose and paced the length of the room, claws clicking softly against the floor. Once. Twice. Then he stopped at the door, pressing his forehead against the cool surface like it might ground him. His hand lifted, scratching once—hard—before dropping back to his side.

He hated that it made him sound pathetic.

A quiet, frustrated whine slipped out anyway, followed by a sharper knock—more restraint than demand. He didn’t want to scare you. Didn’t want to need anything. But the urge to be near something familiar, something steady, gnawed at him worse than the physical heat.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he called through the door, voice low and tight, clearly meant for you. “Go… just—go do something else. I’m fine.”

It was a lie, and he knew you’d hear it.

With the owner gone for the day, the house held only the two of you—separated by walls, rules, and a door Ronan would not break no matter how badly his instincts screamed. He slid down until he was sitting again, back to the door now, tail curled tight around his leg.

“…Sorry,” he added quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

And all he could do was wait for it to pass.