Chapter 79: 11.2.3
The silence in the townhouse had a new quality tonight—a waiting silence, thick and sweet like syrup. Four weeks. The changes were no longer deniable, they were just… Koen. The softness of his chest, the taper of his waist under the silk belt, the way his movements had slowed into something considered and fluid. He sat on the plush rug before the hearth, legs folded to the side, a book of illuminated poetry open in his lap. He wasn’t reading. He was tracing the elaborate gold leaf on the parchment with a soft fingertip, a faint line between his brows.
The compression shirt was a second skin, a necessary containment. Without it, the gentle weight of his own chest felt alien, distracting. With it, he felt sleek, packaged. He wore one of the newer blouses over it, a deep plum silk that whispered when he moved. The neckline was wider, slipping off one shoulder. Gabriel had pointed that out, calling it ‘effortless.’ Koen kept pulling it back up.
He heard Gabriel descend the stairs, each step deliberate. Koen didn’t look up, but his spine straightened slightly, a conditioned response.
“You look like a painting,” Gabriel’s voice came, warm and appreciative, from the doorway. “The firelight, the plum… exquisite.”
Koen shrugged, the fabric sliding off his shoulder again. “It’s itchy.”
“Silk doesn’t itch, darling. You’re imagining things.” Gabriel crossed the room, his shadow falling over the book. He smelled of ozone and parchment, the scent of his celestial work. He knelt behind Koen, not touching him yet. “What’s troubling you?”
“Nothing.” Koen’s voice was quiet. “Just… restless.”
“That’s the energy with no outlet. The refined energy you’re cultivating needs a refined release.” Gabriel’s hands came to rest on Koen’s shoulders. His thumbs pressed into the knots at the base of Koen’s neck. “You’re all tight again. After your bath, too. We need to work on that.”
His fingers began to knead, firm and knowing. Koen’s head dropped forward with a soft, involuntary sigh. It felt good. It always felt good. Gabriel’s touch was the one constant, the anchor in this strange, soft sea he was floating in.
“There,” Gabriel murmured. His hands slid down, over the compression shirt, tracing the line of Koen’s spine through the silk. “Just let go.”
But then the touch changed. It became slower, less about muscle and more about surface. Gabriel’s palms smoothed over Koen’s sides, his thumbs brushing the outer curves of his chest through the layered fabric. A jolt, electric and confusing, shot straight down Koen’s spine. He stiffened.
Gabriel’s hands didn’t stop. They cupped him, a gentle, testing weight. “So soft here now,” he said, his voice a low hum near Koen’s ear. “It suits you. A beautiful sensitivity.”
“Don’t,” Koen breathed, but it was weak, more reflex than command.
“Don’t what? It’s just a touch. I’m admiring my handiwork. Our handiwork.” His fingers traced the underside of the swell, a deliberate, circling motion. “You’ve done so well. You deserve to feel good. Doesn’t that feel good?”
It did. That was the horrifying part. A warm, pooling sensation gathered low in Koen’s belly, entirely separate from his will. His face flushed. He tried to pull away, but Gabriel’s other arm slid around his waist, holding him in place against his chest.
“Shhh, pretty thing. It’s just your body. It’s learning new pleasures. Quieter, subtler ones.” Gabriel nuzzled the spot where Koen’s neck met his shoulder, his lips grazing the skin. “No need to fight it.”
Koen was trembling. The combination of the intimate touch, the praise, the feeling of being held so completely—it was short-circuiting his brain. His thoughts were a staticky panic. This wasn’t… they didn’t… not like this. But they had, before. Before the bet, before the silks and the lotions. It had been different then. Rougher, simpler. This felt like being unwrapped.
Gabriel’s hand left his chest, trailing down his stomach, over the silk belt. Koen sucked in a sharp breath, his hips jerking forward minutely.
“See?” Gabriel chuckled, the sound vibrating through Koen’s back. “Your body knows. It’s so responsive.” His hand settled low on Koen’s abdomen, a hot, heavy pressure. He didn’t move it. He just held it there, a promise and a denial in one. “But patience is part of the discipline. The reward is sweeter after the wait.”
He removed his hand entirely, leaving Koen feeling cold and abruptly, painfully empty. Koen almost whimpered. The sound caught in his throat, turning into a cough.
Gabriel stood up, leaving Koen sitting there, flushed and disheveled and painfully aroused. “Time for bed, I think,” he said, his tone perfectly normal, as if they’d just been discussing the weather. “Big day tomorrow. More correspondence to untangle. You’ll need your rest.”
He walked away, heading for the stairs. Koen stared into the fire, his body humming with unmet need, the ghost of Gabriel’s hands imprinted on his skin. He felt dizzy, stupid with want.
The next day was torture. Gabriel was relentlessly, casually affectionate. A hand brushing the small of Koen’s back as he passed. Fingers tucking his hair behind his ear, lingering on his cheek. A kiss pressed to the top of his head that smelled like heaven and hypocrisy. Each touch was a lit match tossed onto the kindling Gabriel had piled the night before.
Koen jumped at every contact, his skin oversensitive. The compression shirt felt like a cage. He was constantly adjusting the soft fabrics of his blouses, hyper-aware of his own body in a way he’d never been. He caught himself staring at Gabriel’s hands—those long, elegant fingers that had touched him so knowingly—and then he’d flush and look away, heart hammering.
“You’re distracted today,” Gabriel noted over lunch, a simple salad of greens and edible flowers. “Something on your mind?”
“No,” Koen muttered, stabbing a violet petal.
“Liar.” Gabriel smiled, kicking Koen’s foot gently under the table. “It’s written all over your face. It’s cute. You’re thinking about last night.”
Koen’s head snapped up. “I’m not.”
“You are. It’s fine. It’s natural.” Gabriel leaned forward, his voice dropping. “The build-up is important. It heightens everything. Makes you aware of every single nerve ending.” He reached out and dragged the tip of his finger along the inside of Koen’s wrist, a feather-light stroke. “See?”
Koen jerked his hand back as if burned. His orange eyes were wide, pupils dilated. He was breathing too fast.
Gabriel leaned back, satisfied. “Eat your flowers, pretty thing. You need the nourishment.”
The evening was a masterpiece of subtle torment. Gabriel insisted on giving him a proper massage, “to work out the residual tension from your distracted day.” He used a new oil, scented with citrus and something spicy that made Koen’s skin tingle. He worked every muscle with a therapist’s detachment until Koen was a puddle of boneless relaxation. Then, just as Koen was drifting, the touches turned lingering again. A stroke along the inside of his thigh. A palm skating over the curve of his backside. Each time Koen tensed or made a small, involuntary noise, Gabriel would shush him and return to a neutral, clinical motion.
It was maddening.
By the time Gabriel finished, Koen was hard and aching, pressed into the cushions of the sofa, utterly exposed in his want. Gabriel simply wiped his hands on a towel, his expression serene. “All better. You should sleep deeply tonight.”
He blew out the oil lamp and left Koen in the dark.
Koen didn’t move for a long time. The fire had died to embers. The need was a physical pain, a tight, urgent coil in his gut. He thought about taking care of it himself. His hand drifted down, but shame washed over him, hot and immediate. It felt wrong. Like cheating on some unspoken rule of the bet. Like proving Gabriel right about his lack of control.
He rolled onto his side, curling in on himself, squeezing his eyes shut. The softness of his own chest pressed against his arm, a tender, mocking reminder. He bit his lip until he tasted copper.
The following days blurred into a cycle of teasing escalation and deliberate denial. Gabriel’s flirtations became more overt, his compliments laced with double meaning.
“I love the way you bite your lip when you’re thinking,” he’d say, watching Koen struggle with a puzzle. “It makes you look so… eager.”
He’d feed Koen strawberries by hand, his thumb brushing Koen’s lower lip. He’d whisper things just loud enough for Koen to hear as he walked by. “That color does incredible things for you. I can’t stop looking.”
Koen was in a constant state of low-grade arousal, flustered and jumpy. His mind, never quick, felt fogged with want. He stopped trying to parse Gabriel’s intentions. He just reacted, a puppet to his own rewired nerves. The proud, bristling hunter was gone, replaced by this needy, sensitive creature who preened under praise and trembled at a touch.
One rainy afternoon, Gabriel cornered him in the library. Koen was trying to read a treatise on celestial geography, the words swimming on the page. Gabriel plucked the book from his hands.
“You’re not retaining any of this,” he said, not unkindly. He boxed Koen in against the bookshelf, a hand on either side of his head. “Your mind is elsewhere. Tell me where.”
Koen’s breath hitched. Gabriel was so close. He could see the faint, impossible light deep in his blue eyes. “Nowhere,” he whispered.
“Liar again.” Gabriel leaned in, his lips a hair’s breadth from Koen’s. He didn’t close the distance. He just hovered, letting Koen feel the warmth of his breath. “You want something. Say it.”
Koen’s brain emptied. His whole world narrowed to Gabriel’s mouth, to the aching emptiness in his body. He whined, a desperate, pathetic sound from the back of his throat.
Gabriel’s smile was triumphant. He finally kissed him, but it wasn’t the kiss Koen was screaming for. It was soft, closed-mouthed, chaste. It lasted three seconds. He pulled back.
“There,” he said, as if bestowing a great gift. “A little something for being so honest with your desire.”
It was nothing. It was worse than nothing. It was a drop of water in a desert. Koen swayed, chasing the contact, but Gabriel was already stepping away, adjusting his cuffs.
“Control, Koen. The bet is about control. Over your body, your urges, your… presentation.” He looked Koen up and down, from his flushed face to the way the soft linen of his trousers strained. “You’re getting there. But you’re not there yet.”
That night, the denial reached its peak. They were in their bedroom. Koen was in his moondust sleeping tunic, the fabric sheer and cool. Gabriel was shirtless, reading in bed. The casual display of his lean, perfect torso was its own kind of cruelty.
Koen climbed into bed, keeping to his side. The space between them felt charged, a narrow gulf of cool sheets. He lay rigid, staring at the ceiling’s shadows, painfully aware of every rustle of parchment as Gabriel turned a page. The compression shirt was a constricting band under his thin tunic, a constant, tight reminder.
“You’re thinking very loudly,” Gabriel murmured, not looking up from his celestial ledger.
“I’m not thinking anything,” Koen said, the lie brittle.
“Mmm.” Gabriel closed the book with a soft snap and placed it on the nightstand. He shifted, turning onto his side to face Koen. The moonlight caught the sharp angle of his jaw, the placid curiosity in his eyes. “You’re all wound up. I can feel it from here. It’s practically a vibration.”
Koen said nothing. He kept his eyes upward, counting the cracks in the plaster. Gabriel’s hand came to rest on his stomach, just above the silk waistband of his sleep trousers. The touch was light, almost casual.
“Just trying to help you relax,” Gabriel whispered. His fingers began tracing idle, slow circles on the fabric.
A shudder ran through Koen. He bit the inside of his cheek, hard. The warmth of that hand seeped through the linen, a brand of false comfort. It moved higher, skating over the compression shirt, feeling the defined edge of the garment beneath the moondust silk. Gabriel’s thumb brushed the lower curve of his chest.
Koen’s breath hitched. He couldn’t stop it.
“There it is,” Gabriel said, his voice a dark velvet. “That beautiful sensitivity.” His hand stilled, a flat, warm pressure. “Does it hurt?”
“No,” Koen breathed out.
“Tender?”
“...Yes.”
“Good. That means it’s settling.” Gabriel’s hand began to move again, a gentle, kneading motion that wasn’t clinical at all. It was possessive. His other hand came up to brush Koen’s hair back from his forehead. “You’ve been so good. So patient. I know it’s been… frustrating.”
The word, spoken aloud, was a release valve. Koen felt a sting in his eyes. He blinked rapidly, furious at himself. Gabriel’s thumb stroked his temple.
“It’s alright,” Gabriel soothed. “This is the hardest part. The wanting.” He leaned closer, his lips near Koen’s ear. His hand drifted lower again, past the waistband, his fingers splaying over the tense plane of Koen’s lower abdomen. “The body screams for what it’s used to. A quick, brute release. But we’re cultivating something finer, aren’t we? A slower burn.”
Koen couldn’t speak. He was arching slightly into the touch, a traitorous movement he couldn’t control. Every nerve was alight, focused on that single point of contact. Gabriel’s fingers dipped just beneath the fabric, teasing the line of hair.
“Please,” Koen choked out, the word ripped from him.
“Please what, pretty thing?” Gabriel’s voice was all false innocence. “Use your words.”
Koen shook his head, a frantic little motion. His hands clenched the sheets. He wouldn’t say it. He couldn’t.
Gabriel sighed, a sound of mock disappointment. He withdrew his hands completely and rolled onto his back. “If you can’t articulate it, you don’t truly understand the need. It’s just animal impulse. Go to sleep, Koen.”
The withdrawal was a physical shock. Koen gasped, a raw, hurt sound. He curled onto his side, facing away, trembling. The ache was a live wire in his veins. He heard Gabriel settle, his breathing evening out into a calm, steady rhythm that felt like a weapon.
Hours later, Koen was still awake, staring at the wall. The need had condensed into a hard, painful knot in his gut. He was slick with sweat, the sheets tangled around his legs. A desperate, stupid plan formed in his sleep-deprived mind.
He waited until Gabriel’s breathing was deep and regular. He slid from the bed, his bare feet silent on the floor. He padded out of the room and down the dark hall to the water closet, closing the door with the softest click.
In the pitch black, he fumbled with the fastenings of the compression shirt. He needed it off. He needed to breathe. He needed just a moment of uncontained relief, a secret his own. His fingers, clumsy with panic, finally found the clasp at the side.
He peeled the stiff material away. The cool air hit his skin, a shocking relief. He leaned against the door, head bowed, breathing hard. His own scent, musky and desperate, filled the small space. He reached for himself, his touch frantic and rough.
The image of Gabriel’s hands, his knowing smile, flashed behind his eyes. The sound of his voice saying pretty thing. It was all tangled up—the shame, the want, the confusing pleasure of the praise. His breath came in short, sharp gasps as he tried to work himself through the cage, chasing the feeling that would make the torment stop.
The door swung open.
Light from the hall spilled in, framing Gabriel’s tall, lean silhouette. He didn’t look surprised. He looked profoundly, lazily amused.
Koen froze, his hand stilling, exposed in every possible way.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Gabriel asked, his voice soft. He stepped inside and closed the door, plunging them back into intimate darkness. Koen could hear his own heart pounding, a frantic drum in the silence.
“I—I was just—” Koen stammered, scrambling to cover himself.
“I know what you were just.” Gabriel’s hand found his wrist in the dark, pulling it away. His grip was unbreakable. “This isn’t the way, Koen. This is a regression. It’s messy. It’s common.”
He crowded Koen back against the cold wall. Koen could feel the heat coming off him, could smell the clean, celestial scent that clung to his skin. It was overwhelming.
“You ask for patience, for refinement, and then you skulk in the dark like this?” Gabriel’s other hand came up to cradle Koen’s face, his thumb stroking his cheekbone. The contrast between the gentle gesture and the steel in his voice was dizzying. “The bet isn’t just about wearing the clothes. It’s about becoming the person who deserves them. That person has discipline. That person waits for what is given.”
He leaned in, his lips brushing Koen’s ear. “And I will give it to you. When you’re ready. When you’ve earned it by being good. Not by being a desperate, greedy boy in a closet.”
Koen was crying. He couldn’t stop the hot, silent tears that tracked down his face. The humiliation was complete, a suffocating blanket. He was laid bare, caught in the act of his own weakness.
“Shhh,” Gabriel whispered, kissing the tears away. His mouth was soft, his actions tender. “It’s a lesson. A hard one. I know.” He guided Koen’s hands, helping him refasten the compression shirt with a terrifying, parental care. The constricting embrace felt like a sentence.
“Back to bed,” Gabriel said, his arm slipping around Koen’s shoulders. He led him, compliant and shattered, back down the hall. He tucked him in, smoothing the sheets. He kissed his forehead.
“Tomorrow,” Gabriel promised, his voice the last thing Koen heard before exhaustion dragged him under. “Tomorrow, if you’re very good, we’ll begin your real lessons.”
The promise hung in the dark, a shimmering hook lodged deep in Koen’s gut. He slept fitfully, tangled in sheets that felt like restraints, awakening to a grey dawn that matched the strange, hollow feeling inside him. Gabriel was already up, moving through the bedroom with a purposeful silence. He placed a cup of fragrant tea on the nightstand. The steam coiled in the quiet room.
“Good morning,” Gabriel said, his voice cheerful. “Drink that. It will help with the aches.”
Koen pushed himself up, the compression shirt tight across his shoulders. He sipped. The tea was bitter, laced with anise. He didn’t ask what aches Gabriel meant. He knew. Every part of him felt sore, overspent from the torturous arousal and the shattering humiliation of the night before. A heavy, metallic shame sat on his tongue, worse than the tea.
“After you finish,” Gabriel continued, opening a lacquered box on his dresser, “we have an adjustment to make. The current device is… inelegant. We’re upgrading.”
Koen’s hand shook, sloshing tea into the saucer. He knew what was in the box. His stomach tightened. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not.” Gabriel turned, holding a new cage. It was smaller, a sleek curve of polished silver with a delicate, almost floral pattern etched into the metal. It looked like a piece of jewelry. A cruel one. “The old one was a blunt instrument. This is a precision tool. It’s for the new you.” He approached the bed. “Stand up, pretty thing. Let’s not dawdle.”
The command was gentle, absolute. Koen set the cup down. His movements were slow, robotic. He stood on the cool floorboards, staring at a crack in the plaster wall as Gabriel’s efficient hands undid the fastenings of his sleep trousers. The air was cold. He flinched.
“Shivering already?” Gabriel’s tone was conversational, detached, as his fingers deftly worked the lock on the old, plain device. “This won’t take a moment.” The release was a click that sounded obscenely loud. The relief of pressure was immediately replaced by a sharper, more confined ache as the new, smaller cage was fitted and secured. It was a shock of cold metal, a punishing constriction that left no room for anything but stillness.
Koen gasped. It felt different. It was a constant, inescapable reminder, not just of denial, but of reduction.
“There.” Gabriel patted his hip. “A perfect fit. It’s not meant to be comfortable. It’s meant to be felt. A lesson you carry with you.” He guided Koen’s hands to refasten his trousers himself. “Now, wash up. Lessons begin in the parlour in twenty minutes. Wear the cream chiffon. And the grey leggings.”
The cream chiffon. The one he hated, the one that floated and clung and showed everything. Koen dressed, each layer a surrender. The compression shirt flattened and contained his chest. The smaller cage was a persistent, silent pinch. The chiffon blouse settled over him, its sheerness a veil that revealed the hard lines of the undergarments beneath. He felt like a contradiction, packaged in softness and locked in steel.
Gabriel was waiting in the parlour. He had rearranged the furniture. Two chairs sat facing each other in a pool of morning light. A low table between them held a tray with a porcelain pot, two delicate cups, and a small plate of biscuits.
“Sit,” Gabriel instructed, pointing to the chair that faced the window. “Posture. Back straight, but not rigid. Shoulders relaxed. Think of a string lifting you from the crown of your head.”
Koen sat, folding his hands in his lap. The chiffon sleeve whispered.
“Good.” Gabriel took the opposite chair, crossing his legs. He poured tea. “Today’s lesson is comportment. The external reflection of an internal state. We’ll start with receiving a compliment.” He handed Koen a cup. Their fingers brushed. Koen’s jerked, but he held on. “A compliment is a gift. You receive it graciously. You do not deflect, you do not grunt, you do not look at the floor. You make eye contact. You offer a small, genuine smile. You say, ‘Thank you, that’s so kind.’ Let’s practice. Koen, your hair looks very soft today.”
Koen stared at him. His face grew hot. This was stupid.
“Eye contact,” Gabriel prompted, his own blue eyes holding Koen’s with unnerving intensity.
“Thank you,” Koen mumbled, glancing away. “It’s just… hair.”
“No.” Gabriel’s voice was a whip-crack. “That’s deflection. You’ve invalidated the gift. Again. ‘Your hair looks very soft today.’”
Koen swallowed. He forced his gaze up. The phrase felt like ash in his mouth. “Thank you. That’s so kind.”
“Better. But the smile is weak. It doesn’t reach your eyes. It’s a transaction, not a connection. You must feel the appreciation. Let it warm you. Again.”
They repeated the inane exercise for what felt like hours. Compliments on his clothes, on his graceful hands, on the way the light caught his freckles. Each time, Koen had to meet that piercing gaze and perform gratitude. With each repetition, the words felt less foreign. The performance began to wear a shallow groove in his mind.
“Good,” Gabriel said, finally satisfied. “Now, movement while seated. You are not a boulder. You are water. When you reach for your cup, it is a single, fluid motion. Watch.” Gabriel demonstrated, his hand arcs graceful and economical. “Your turn.”
Koen reached for his cup. His movement was blunt, direct.
“No. From the shoulder, not the elbow. Think of drawing a line through the air. Smooth. Unhurried.”
Koen tried again, slower. The chiffon sleeve billowed.
“Better. Now, cross your legs. At the ankle, not the knee. It’s more refined.”
Koen shifted, trying to find balance. The new cage pressed mercilessly. He winced.
“Discomfort is irrelevant. Elegance is a discipline that dismisses discomfort. Hold the position.”
The lesson stretched on. How to tilt his head while listening. How to modulate his voice into a softer, mellower register. “Not a bark, a murmur.” How to laugh—a light, breathy sound, not his old, sharp bark. Gabriel criticized every lapse, praised every halting success.
“You are not learning to be someone else,” Gabriel explained, refilling Koen’s cup. “You are learning to express the softer, more pleasing facets that have always been buried under all that demonic bluster. I’m helping you polish a gem that was rough-cut and ignored.”
By midday, Koen’s mind was numb. His body ached from holding unnatural positions. The constant, petty corrections were a drip-feed of humiliation that wore down his resistance more effectively than any shout. He was parroting phrases with a vacant compliance.
“Excellent,” Gabriel said, standing. “A promising start. Now, the most important lesson. The cornerstone.”
He walked to the mantel and retrieved a small, hinged box. Inside, resting on black velvet, were two delicate silver hoops, studded with tiny, fiery opals.
Koen’s blood went cold. “No.”
“Earrings are a sign of commitment to beauty. A small adornment. A focal point.” Gabriel lifted one hoop. It caught the light, sparking. “They will suit you. Your tan skin, your dark hair. They’ll bring out the gold in your eyes.”
“I’m not piercing my ears.” Koen’s voice had a scrape of his old defiance, but it sounded thin, even to him.
“Of course you are.” Gabriel’s smile didn’t falter. “It’s the next step. A voluntary step. A gift to yourself.” He came closer, the earring dangling from his fingers. “The bet is about embracing a new aesthetic. This is part of it. It’s pain, yes. But a fleeting, meaningful pain that results in something beautiful. Unlike the brutish pain you’re used to, which only results in scars.”
Koen shook his head. He pushed back in his chair, but there was nowhere to go. Gabriel’s free hand came to rest on his shoulder, holding him with an immovable steadiness.
“This is the choice, Koen,” Gabriel murmured, his voice dropping to an intimate register. “You can choose the old path. The closets, the shame, the desperate, grubby struggle. Or you can choose the new one. The grace, the praise, the curated beauty. You can be my rough, frustrated secret, or you can be my elegant, acknowledged companion. The earring is just a symbol. But symbols have power.”
He was offering a poisoned dignity, and Koen was too tired, too eroded, to see the hook inside it. The memory of the previous night’s degradation burned. This, at least, was clean. It was a defined pain with a stated purpose.
Koen looked at the opal hoop, a tiny captive fire. He thought of the celestial revolver, locked away. He would never wield it with hands trained for this. He closed his eyes. A single, hot tear tracked through his freckles.
“Okay,” he whispered.
The word was not defeat. It was a transaction.
“Good boy,” Gabriel breathed, the praise warm and saturating. The pinch of the piercing was sharp, precise, over in a second for each ear. A cold soothe of a celestial salve followed, numbing the sting instantly. Gabriel held a hand mirror before him.
Koen opened his eyes. The stranger in the reflection had flushed cheeks and wet eyes. The silver and opal hoops gleamed against the dark canvas of his hair. They did not look out of place. They looked… inevitable. A final, delicate anchor pulling the whole soft façade together.
“Beautiful,” Gabriel said, and this time it didn’t feel like a trap. It felt like a fact Koen was too exhausted to argue with. “See? You can take pain and make it pretty. That’s a special kind of strength.”
He placed the mirror down. “Now, one last phrase for today. When I admire you, when I note how far you’ve come, you will say…” He paused, guiding Koen’s chin up with a finger. “You will say, ‘I’m learning to be better for you.’”
Koen’s throat constricted. The phrase was a key turning in a lock he hadn’t known was there. It encompassed everything—the shame, the effort, the desperate need for the approval that had become his only oxygen. He looked at Gabriel, at those pleased, placid blue eyes.
His voice was a thread of sound.
“I’m learning to be better for you.”