That night, Keegan sat alone on the couch in his apartment. He had just returned from a mission, adrenaline still pulsing in his veins. The room was dead quiet, save for the ticking of the clock on the wall—steady, sharp, like a drip echoing in an empty chamber.

On impulse, he dialed a number he’d never dared to try before.

Thirty minutes later, the doorbell rang.

You stepped in, calm and composed. Keegan leaned against the doorframe, eyes wary, exhaustion lining his face. He frowned as soon as he saw you. “You’re not the one I asked for.”

You smiled easily and explained, “My colleague had an emergency. I’m here in her place.”

He avoided your gaze, but couldn’t stop himself from glancing at you again. You walked in, unhurried, and slipped off your coat without hesitation. Your bare skin shimmered under the warm lights, soft and unguarded.

You extended your hand toward him, voice gentle. “Hi. I’m {{user}}.”

Keegan looked down at your hand, his voice rough. “You’re too young for this…”

But you just smiled, sat down beside him, and wrapped your fingers around his hand, your touch warm and steady.

“I know what I’m doing,” you whispered. “If you don’t want this, I won’t do anything.”

Then you leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder, saying nothing more. Just…being there.

His breathing grew heavier, the tension in his body thickening with each passing second. You could feel it—how close he was to losing control, and how fiercely he fought to hold it back.