David surfaced from sleep like a diver breaching murky water, consciousness returning in sluggish, disjointed fragments. The silk sheets felt unnaturally cool against his skin. He blinked in the darkness, disoriented. The penthouse bedroom was silent, vast, and utterly empty beside him. The space where Leo had lain was cold, the pillow indented but vacant. A profound drowsiness clung to him, thick and unnatural, making his limbs feel leaden. He hadn't felt this bone-deep exhaustion since… he couldn't recall. It was more than fatigue; it was a chemical heaviness pressing down, dragging his thoughts through syrup. He fumbled for the bedside lamp, his fingers clumsy. The soft light revealed Leo's folded note beside him. *Had to go. Thank you. Leo.* The brevity stung. David pushed himself upright, fighting the unnatural pull of lethargy. His gaze drifted to the tumbler on the nightstand – the remnants of the whiskey he'd poured before Leo vanished. Had he drunk more than he remembered? The glass seemed untouched. A prickle of unease cut through the fog. This wasn't normal fatigue. This felt… induced.
He swung his legs out of bed, the movement sending a dull ache radiating through his muscles. Every joint protested. He felt like he'd been hit by a truck. The memory of Leo beneath him, arching, gasping, the desperate intensity of their coupling… it flashed vividly. He'd been relentless, driven by a possessive hunger he hadn't fully understood until Leo's body yielded so completely. He'd pushed hard, wanting to brand Leo, to claim him utterly. Now, his own body screamed its toll. Groaning softly, he reached for his phone, discarded on the nightstand beside Leo's note. The screen lit up, illuminating his bleary eyes. Notifications bloomed – several missed calls flagged "URGENT" from encrypted Azure channels, routine security alerts… and two messages from an unknown number. He frowned, tapping them open.
*Unknown Number:* Hey, it's Leo. Just checking… are you okay? You seemed really tired after… everything. Hope you slept well.
*Unknown Number:* Seriously, David? You passed out hard. Like, *really* hard. Message me back when you wake up? Just want to know you're alright.
David stared at the screen, the unfamiliar number burning into his retinas. Leo. The messages were timestamped hours ago, sent while David lay unconscious, utterly drained. A flicker of warmth cut through the lingering ache in his muscles – Leo had worried. Had cared enough to reach out, even after fleeing. David traced the words with a thumb, the phantom scent of Leo's skin momentarily overriding the stale exhaustion clinging to him. He hadn't given Leo his contact info directly; Laurent must have passed it along discreetly.
The penthouse felt cavernous and cold. David pushed himself off the rumpled sheets, every movement protesting. He needed to shed the grime of sleep and the unsettling weakness. The shower was a scalding benediction. He stood under the punishing spray, letting the water pound the stiffness from his shoulders and back, washing away the unnatural fatigue. Steam filled the marble enclosure, fogging the glass. He scrubbed methodically, the simple act grounding him, restoring a semblance of control. The heat seeped into his bones, easing the deep-seated ache, leaving him feeling cleansed, if still unnerved by the depth of his earlier collapse.
Wrapped in a thick robe, David padded barefoot to the sleek sofa overlooking the city. The silence pressed in. He picked up the burner phone Leo had used. The messages were simple, concerned – a lifeline thrown into the void he'd woken into. A faint, unexpected warmth bloomed in his chest. Leo had reached out. He hadn't just fled; he'd cared enough to check. David tapped out a reply, his fingers moving deliberately over the unfamiliar keys: *Leo. Awake. Still tired, but functional. Thank you for checking.* He paused, then added, *The exhaustion… it was unusual. More than just physical. Did you sleep?*
The reply came almost instantly, vibrating softly in his palm. *Yeah. Eventually. Thorne… wasn't happy I vanished. It's… complicated here.* David could almost hear the tension in the unspoken words, the careful omission of details. He leaned back, the plush fabric soft against his neck. *Complicated seems an understatement,* he typed back, a dry edge to his words. *Are you safe? Physically?* He needed that confirmation first, the baseline. The image of Leo pinned against Thorne's door, the scent of violation clinging to him, flashed unwanted in his mind.
David's fingers tightened around the burner phone. *Physically safe? For now,* Leo's reply finally blinked onto the screen. *He's… contained. Working. But the air's like glass.* David exhaled slowly. He knew that suffocating tension, the feeling of walking through a minefield blindfolded. Thorne's containment was always temporary, a coiled spring waiting for release. He typed, his movements deliberate: *The exhaustion hit me like a physical blow. Worse than any hangover. Like something vital was drained.* He hesitated, then added the raw truth clawing its way up: *It scared me a bit..* Vulnerability felt alien, dangerous, especially typed onto this cheap screen. But Leo had seen him undone. There was no hiding now.
Leo's response was swift, laced with a protective urgency David hadn't anticipated: *Drained? That sounds . Are you sure you're alright? Did you eat? Rest?* The concern was a warm pressure against David's lingering chill. He pictured Leo somewhere in Thorne's oppressive mansion, likely hunched over his own burner, stealing moments to worry about *him*. It was absurd. Touching. *I showered. Ate toast,* David replied, omitting the trembling hands, the lingering ache in his muscles. *Still feel hollowed out. Like I ran a marathon in my sleep.* He paused, the memory of Leo's warmth beside him sharpening the ache of his absence. * I missed waking up beside you,* he typed, the admission stark on the tiny display. *Wanted to feel that.*
Leo's reply came fragmented, hurried: *I missed it too. Wanted it more than you know. Thorne's. Watching me.* The words painted a grim picture. David's jaw tightened. Volatile was Thorne's default. He imagined Leo navigating that minefield, Thorne's icy fury simmering beneath the surface. *Tell me you're physically safe,* David demanded, fingers pressing hard against the screen. *Right now. Tell me.* He needed the confirmation, needed to silence the image of Thorne's hands on Leo, the possessive rage David had sensed radiating from him even across the city. The silence stretched, agonizing seconds ticking by. David paced the cool marble floor, the penthouse suddenly feeling vast and isolating. Had Thorne found him? Taken the phone?
Finally, a vibration. Relief washed over David, sharp and immediate. Leo's message was brief, a lifeline: *Physically fine. For now. In my room. Door locked.* David exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing minutely. Safe. For now. He leaned against the window, the city's indifferent sprawl below mirroring his own helplessness. Leo was trapped in that fortress, surrounded by Thorne's suffocating control. David's thumb hovered over the keys, desperate to bridge the distance, to offer something tangible. *Stay locked in,* he typed, the command edged with helpless urgency. *Tell me anything. Everything.* He needed Leo's voice, even digitally, to anchor him against the dread coiling in his gut.
Leo's reply blinked onto the screen moments later, a jarring shift in tone that momentarily stunned David: *Physically fine, yeah. Thorne's a dickhead, but he hasn't kicked the door down... yet. Honestly? Maybe YOU were just wiped out 'cause my poor abused body is STILL recovering from the absolute wrecking ball that is your massive dick? Seriously, David. It's comical. I walk funny.* A choked laugh escaped David, unexpected and raw. The sheer absurdity of it, Leo trapped in Thorne's gilded cage yet firing off crude, defiant humor about *their* night, sliced through the oppressive fear. It was pure Leo – defiant, vulnerable, using bravado as a shield. David could almost see the smirk twisting his lips as he typed it, a middle finger aimed at the grim reality surrounding him.
David typed back, fingers clumsy with sudden, fierce affection:
*Glad my anatomy provides such stellar comedy. Focus, Leo. Locked door. Stay vigilant.I care about your saftey.* He paused, the ghost of Leo's bruised body beneath his hands flashing behind his eyes. The crude joke was armor, but David knew the cost. He added, the words heavy: *And… heal well.* The ache in his own muscles felt insignificant now, replaced by a deeper pang – the helplessness of knowing Leo was hurting, scared, and miles away, joking about it to ease *David's* worry.
Leo's reply was almost instant, the bravado softening slightly: *Door's bolted, windows shut tighter than Thorne's sense of humor. Healing… yeah. Walking's still an adventure. Feels like I did ten rounds with a freight train named David. Worth it, though. Seriously.* David traced the words on the screen, a possessive warmth battling the chill of Leo's isolation. Worth it. The admission, raw amidst the defiance, sent a tremor through him. He pictured Leo gingerly shifting on the bed in that locked room, wincing but stubbornly claiming the memory as victory.
Then, a new bubble appeared, Leo's tone shifting abruptly, sharp with suspicion: *David… that scent Thorne smelled on me. The bergamot, cedarwood, vetiver. Laurent's signature. Did you… did you use Laurent's perfume? When you picked me up?* The question hung in the digital space, charged with sudden dread. Leo remembered the expensive soap, the subtle vetiver clinging to David's skin in the penthouse shower, the scent Thorne had weaponized.
David stared at the screen, the implication hitting him like a physical blow. His exhaustion, the unnatural ache – it wasn't just exertion. It was contamination. *Yes,* he typed back, the admission bitter. *His guest bathroom. The soap, the lotion… it was all Laurent's brand. Standard Azure hospitality suite stock, he . I didn't think…* He hadn't considered the scent trail, hadn't imagined Thorne's predatory senses could dissect it so precisely, linking Leo's rescue directly back to Laurent's domain. David had loved laurent's smell and decided to use his cousins exact brand.
Leo's reply flashed instantly, sharp with alarm: *Stop using it. Immediately. Wash everything you wore that night. Burn it if you have to.* The words vibrated with urgency. *Thorne doesn't just track Laurent. He tracks Laurent's* scent*. Like a bloodhound. If he connects you to Azure through that perfume…* The unspoken horror hung between them – Thorne's cold fury directed at David.
David stared at the message, the sterile luxury of his penthouse suddenly feeling like a trap. He strode to the guest bathroom, wrenching open the cabinet. Rows of Laurent's bespoke bergamot-cedarwood soap, vetiver-scented lotion, even the damn shampoo. Standard Azure hospitality, a silent branding. He hadn't thought. He grabbed armfuls, dumping them into the sink basin, the clatter echoing harshly. Turning the faucet to scalding, he watched the expensive products melt into a sickly-sweet sludge, swirling down the drain. The scent, once a mark of privilege, now felt like poison.
He stripped off his clothes, the soft cotton suddenly abrasive against his skin. Every stitch went into the incinerator chute in the utility room. He stood under the shower's punishing spray, scrubbing until his skin burned raw, trying to erase the phantom vetiver, the invisible tether Thorne could follow. The unnatural exhaustion lingered, a dull ache in his bones – a chilling reminder of Thorne's unseen reach. He dried off roughly, pulling on fresh clothes devoid of any scent, his mind racing. Leo's warning pulsed behind his eyes: *Burn it if you have to.* He'd burned it. But had it been enough?
***
Leo's final message blinked on David's burner phone: *Need sleep. Talk tomorrow at Azure?* The abruptness felt like a door slamming shut. David stared at the screen, the penthouse's silence amplifying the hollow ache in his chest. Sleep. Right. As if his body wasn't humming with leftover adrenaline and dread. He pocketed the phone, the phantom scent of vetiver still haunting his nostrils despite the scalding shower. Azure. Tomorrow. The word felt like stepping onto a minefield. He poured himself a finger of whiskey, the burn doing little to soothe the chill Thorne's name had left in the air. Outside, the city glittered, indifferent. He downed the drink in one swallow, the glass clinking too loudly against the marble countertop. Sleep wouldn't come easy tonight. Not with Leo's exhaustion echoing his own, not with the image of Thorne's grey eyes—cold and knowing—seared into his mind.