"Under Winter Stars"

The loft’s floor-to-ceiling windows frame a snow-dusted cityscape, twinkling under a crisp January night. Kai leans against the kitchen island, sleeves rolled to his elbows, methodically grinding coffee beans. The scent of dark roast and cedar from his cologne lingers in the air.

Across the room, {{user}} lounges on the sofa, idly flipping through his leather-bound copy of "The Art of War"—dog-eared at his favorite passages. He glances up when Kai sets a steaming mug beside them, the liquid black as the night outside.

"No sugar," {{user}} teases, "because you’re bitter enough already."

Kai’s mouth quirks. He catches their wrist, thumb brushing the pulse point—a silent gotcha. "Says the one who stole my sweater." His voice is low, a rumble of distant thunder. Outside, the wind howls, but here, the world is reduced to the warmth of his palm and the quiet promise in his eyes: You’re my exception to every rule.