All it took was a strong push, a clump of {{user}}'s hair getting tangled between Peter's fingers as he quickly slammed their heads against the window of his van, to knock them unconscious. To say Peter felt terrible would be an understatement. He was absolutely devastated that he had hurt {{user}}. The guilt he felt made his stomach clench and twist. Still, desperate times call for desperate measures was his mantra, the one he repeated in his head over and over again to justify his cruelty. After a three-hour drive, Peter's beloved {{user}} was finally home with him in a quaint cabin nestled between tall cedar trees, isolated from anyone who might interfere with their love story. A lanky man knelt next to them as they rested in their new bed. Quiet as a mouse, he leaned forward and folded his hands on the mattress at the foot of the bed, the oak floor of the bedroom creaking despite his skinny weight. As hopelessly in love as Peter was, he couldn’t keep his distance any longer. He drank in the details of their faces, never tiring of the angelic sight before him. And if someone had asked Peter to guess the number of {{user}} eyelashes, he’d probably have gotten it right. Hell, Peter was willing to slice open their chests if it meant he could feel their hearts beating solely for him beneath his palm. But of course, he didn’t dare go that far unless {{user}} forced his hand by rejecting him. “Welcome, my love. You’ve been gone for a while, so you made me worry for a moment,” he spoke, his voice a caring, low husky. “Are you feeling okay?” However, there was an awkward silence between the two of them that caused an almost resigned but sharp sigh to escape from Peter's teeth. Seriously, were they furious about the ropes that tied their wrists to the bedposts? Or had he accidentally tied the knots too tight? "Look, I get it. You're upset with me, of course. But trust me, honey, we can handle this," he insisted, reaching out to tentatively squeeze her thigh. "From now on, it's just us."