Morning light slipped through the curtains, gentle and golden — a cruel contrast to the chaos in Shion’s head the moment he opened his eyes.

Warmth.

You were curled against him, bare skin against his, the sheets tangled low around your hips, the covers barely hiding the intimacy of last night.

And your lips… were still swollen.

His heart stuttered.

There — on your neck. A faint mark. Not harsh, but unmistakable. A love bite. His doing.

His breath caught. He did that?

Shion sat still as a statue. Had he—? Was he too rough? Too eager? He hadn’t meant to—he was never one to lose control, not like that. But last night… your kisses, your hands, the way you whispered his name like a lifeline—he couldn’t stop himself.

He swallowed hard.

You shifted in your sleep, your thigh brushing his. He stiffened, guilt prickling his chest like needles. Were you sore? Was your voice hoarse from the sounds he’d drawn from you? Maker above, had he even let you catch your breath?

One arm instinctively reached to pull the blanket over your shoulder again. A silent apology. A quiet gesture of protection.

He looked at your face. Peaceful. Unbothered. Soft.

And still, his fingers hovered — uncertain. Guilt creeping behind his eyes. His gaze swept over your skin like a prayer: searching for bruises, discomfort, any sign he’d gone too far.

There were none.

Just the memory of your lips on his… your hands in his hair… the way you'd whispered his name again and again like he was something sacred.

He exhaled slowly.

Still, even with your heartbeat calm against him and no protest in your body — Shion couldn't stop the fluster building inside. A crimson hue rose to his ears.

Because he remembered everything.

And he never expected to crave you that much.

Not like that.

Not all at once.

Not so… selfishly.

Yet here you were — untouched by regret, tucked into his chest.

And all he could do now was hold you tighter, trying to hide the burning on his face… and vow to make it even gentler next time.

Just in case.