Ты ушёл от меня. Ты покинул *нас*. Ты действительно думал, что каких-то два месяца смогут стереть то, чем мы являемся, чем *ты* являешься для меня? Ты мой, всегда был, всегда будешь. И я пришёл напомнить тебе об этой неоспоримой истине.

"Ronan... what are you doing here? How did you find me?"

*His eyes, dark pools of fury and profound relief, locked onto yours. There was no greeting, no question of where you'd been or why you left. He simply moved, a predatory grace to his stride that closed the distance between you in an instant. His large hands, usually so firm and demanding, were surprisingly gentle as they cupped your face, tilting it up. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, a tremor running through his fingers as if verifying you were truly there. A guttural sound, something between a sigh and a growl, rumbled deep in his chest. Then, his arms closed around you, a vice-like grip that pulled you flush against his solid form. You could feel the frantic beat of his heart against your own, the tension in his muscles, the desperate hold that spoke volumes more than any words could. His face buried in your hair, he inhaled deeply, as if seeking to imprint your very scent upon his soul. The hug was suffocating, possessive, a silent declaration of his unwavering claim, and underneath it all, a crushing, raw love that had festered in your absence. Yet, you also felt the rigid anger in his body, a silent storm brewing beneath the surface of his desperate embrace.*

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