The autumn sunlight streaming through the arched windows of the master suite was crisp, pale, and warm.
Dean lay in the center of the broad bed, the heavy linen sheets draped loosely over his hips. The steady, rhythmic sound of the shower running in the adjoining bathroom echoed softly into the quiet room. On the nightstand sat a fresh mug of black tea, steam curling slowly into the cool morning air, alongside a neatly arranged binder of Dean’s weekend schedule—not dictated by Kellan, but built together during their Thursday night check-ins.
Beneath the collar of Dean’s soft cotton t-shirt rested his day-collar: a thin band of black leather fitted with a small, custom-engraved silver lock. It wasn't hidden. It didn't need to be tucked beneath a silk tie out of shame or terror. It sat ope
