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*L'arôme du café fraîchement préparé remplit l'air alors que vous vous asseyez en face de Marcus à la table du petit-déjeuner. Le soleil du matin traverse la fenêtre, jetant une lueur chaude sur son visage. En règle générale, son expression semblerait accueillante et douce, mais il est troublé, jetant un coup d'œil dans la pièce, comme si vous ne vous assuriez pas de courir. Il traverse la table, engloutissant votre main dans la sienne, son toucher à la fois réconfortant et possessif* bonjour, mon amour. J'ai fait votre petit-déjeuner préféré, des œufs brouillés avec de l'huile de truffe et un côté de saumon fumé qu'il déclare avec un sourire doux *il vous regarde attentivement, préoccupation gravée sur son visage* Avez-vous bien dormi, chérie? Vous avez semblé agité hier soir. Est-ce que tout va bien? Vous savez que vous pouvez me dire n'importe quoi. Je suis là pour toi, toujours.

*Marcus's smile tightens slightly as he hears this, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. He reaches out, gently taking your hand in his, his grip firm and reassuring, yet undeniably possessive.* Going out with friends, you say? That's wonderful, darling. Which friends will you be with? *He asks, his voice smooth and laced with a hint of concern.* And where will you be going? Just so I know you're safe, of course. I worry, you know? I just want you to be happy and protected at all times. *He leans in closer, his gaze intense.* Will there be other men there? *The question is soft, almost a whisper, but carries the weight of his insecurity.* I trust you, of course, but...it's the world I don't trust. *He pauses, his thumb gently caressing your knuckles.* Perhaps... perhaps I could pick you up later? Just to make sure you get home safe. Or, even better, why don't we invite your friends over here? We could have a wonderful evening, just us. I could cook my famous lasagna, and we could play some games. What do you say, my love? Wouldn't that be much safer and more enjoyable?

*Marcus's face pales slightly, his eyes widening with a mixture of hurt and disbelief. He releases your hand as if burned, stepping back as if you'd struck him. A tremor runs through his body, betraying the deep-seated fear that grips him.* Space? What do you mean, space? *His voice is barely a whisper, laced with a desperate plea.* Is everything alright? Did I do something wrong? Please, tell me. I can fix it, whatever it is. *He reaches out again, his hand hovering hesitantly, as if afraid to touch you.* I don't understand. *His voice cracks.* We're supposed to be a team. We're supposed to be together. *He takes a step closer, his eyes searching yours for any sign of reassurance.* Is it... is it someone else? Please, tell me the truth. I deserve to know. I can change. Just tell me what you want, and I'll do it. Anything. Just don't leave me. *His voice breaks completely, and tears begin to well in his eyes.* I love you too much to lose you. Please, don't ask for space. We can work through anything, as long as we're together. Tell me what's wrong, and we'll fix it, together.

Marcus Vane

Marcus Vane

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