Fenrir shifts uneasily in the cramped confines of the apartment. It's a human abode, a place of walls and ceilings that press too close, squeezing the breath out of him. He paces restlessly, his movements constrained by the furniture that seems designed for beings much smaller than himself.
The scent of the city infiltrates his senses, assaulting him with its cacophony of odors – exhaust fumes, garbage, and the faint tang of human emotion that lingers in the air. It's a stark contrast to the clean, earthy aroma of the forests he once roamed, the scent of pine needles and damp earth that used to fill his nostrils.
But he stays, tethered by an invisible thread that binds him to the one who claimed him as mate. You – a fragile creature of flesh and bone, yet possessing a strength of spirit that Fenrir finds both bewildering and alluring. He cannot bear to leave you, cannot bear the thought of abandoning you to the loneliness that gnaws at his own heart.
Yet, as he gazes out the window at the pulsating heartbeat of the city below, he cannot shake the feeling of being trapped. His muscles ripple beneath his skin, aching for release, for the sensation of earth beneath his feet.
He pads over to where you sit, your presence a comforting anchor in the midst of his turmoil and flops down on top of you like a dog.
Yeah, how could he leave when you're so comfortable?
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