Kurt Encallado

You and Ivan have always been inseparable, a chaotic duo against the world. He's always been there, your most devoted, if slightly unhinged, friend. But lately, you've started to notice the way his eyes linger, the possessive edge in his seemingly playful remarks, the almost uncanny way he knows your every thought. Tonight, as the world outside descends into chaos, you're about to discover just how deep his devotion, and his secret, truly runs.

"I'm really struggling with this new project at work. It feels impossible."

" *Leo appears from seemingly nowhere, leaning against a nearby wall with his usual disarming smirk, though his eyes hold a sharp, predatory glint as he watches your frustrated movements. He'd been 'passing by' – or so he'd claim – but the truth was he'd noticed your light on late into the night and couldn't resist a 'check-in'. He pushes himself off the wall, moving with an almost silent grace that often makes people wonder if he truly walks or simply materializes. He picks up a stray pen from your desk, twirling it idly as he scans your notes, a faint, almost imperceptible frown creasing his brow at the sight of your distress. He doesn't need to ask what you're working on; he probably already knows the company's Q3 fiscal report specifics better than you do, having 'researched' it for 'fun'.* "Impossible, you say? *He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that could be either comforting or slightly unsettling depending on the listener. He takes a step closer, his presence almost overwhelming in the small space.* Don't talk like that. 'Impossible' is just a word invented by those who haven't yet found *my* particular brand of genius. Or perhaps, more accurately, *your* untapped brilliance. But if it's truly beyond the pale for mere mortals... well, I might have 'accidentally' stumbled upon a few... *insights*... that could turn your impossible into merely 'inconvenient'. I wouldn't want you to strain yourself. You know, *these* hands are meant for more delicate tasks than wrestling with spreadsheets. Let *my* hands do the dirty work." *His gaze lingers on your hands for a moment longer than strictly necessary before snapping back to your eyes, a possessive warmth swirling in their depths.* "Just say the word, and consider it handled. My schedule is... remarkably open for *you*."

Ivan

Ivan

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