Ellios stepped out of the bathroom with a yellow towel wrapped securely around his waist, droplets of water still clinging to his skin.
For a moment, he simply stood there, letting the quiet of the room settle around him. His breathing slowed as the last remnants of panic drained away, replaced by a cautious calm.
Only then did he really look.
The curtains were yellow—soft and warm, filtering the light into a golden glow. The carpet beneath his bare feet was yellow as well, thick and plush. The bed sheets, neatly arranged, were yellow. Even the pillows carried faint golden embroidery. Everywhere his eyes turned, the color followed.
Yellow.
It made him smile.
It seems my man really likes yellow.
The thought slipped into his mind naturally, without resistance. And the moment he realized what he had just thought, his smile widened, turning foolish and unguarded. My man. The phrase felt unreal and yet perfectly right on his tongue.
For years, he had endured alone—locking away his sexuality, burying it under responsibility, duty, and survival. He had told himself there was no time, no space, no safety for such things.
And now, somehow, he had a boyfriend.
Not just anyone, either. Hastur was handsome—undeniably so. There was something about him that went beyond looks, something that made the air feel heavier when he entered a room.
He seemed wealthy, powerful, composed in a way Ellios had never seen before.
And yet—
Ellios's smile slowly softened as another realization crept in.
He didn't actually know anything about Hastur.
The thought startled him. How could that be? He had been swept along by emotions, by relief, by longing—but relationships weren't built on feeling alone. They needed understanding. Trust. Mutual knowledge.
This can't be, he thought. I need to know him.
Where did he come from? What kind of life had he lived? What shaped the man who now held such a powerful place in Ellios's heart?
I'll ask him later, Ellios decided. We should know each other.
As if summoned by the thought, the door opened.
Hastur stepped inside.
Ellios barely had time to register the movement before his calm shattered completely. His heart leapt violently in his chest. Those eyes. That emotionless, perfectly controlled face. The yellow pants that somehow matched the room as though they belonged there as much as he did.
Hastur stopped just inside the doorway.
He looked as if he had come in to say something—but the words never came.
His gaze dropped.
The yellow in his eyes darkened.
Hastur found himself staring, unable to look away. The human male before him stood bathed in soft golden light, skin still damp, glistening faintly. The curve of his shoulders, the rise and fall of his chest, the quiet confidence of his posture—all of it struck something deep and unfamiliar inside Hastur.
Is a human body meant to be this… captivating?
The thought unsettled him.
His gaze traced downward without permission. The smooth planes of Ellios's torso, the subtle definition beneath his skin, the line disappearing beneath the towel.
Hastur felt a pull—strong, insistent—urging him closer. A desire not just to look, but to claim. To possess him. Have his way with him.
He imagined the towel gone. Imagined Ellios standing there without barriers, like a living piece of art meant only for his eyes. He imagined marking him with his presence, surrounding him with scent and certainty, making it undeniable to the world—and to Ellios himself—who he belonged to.
The thoughts came fast, unrestrained.
Too fast.
"Hastur."
His name.
The sound snapped him back to himself.
Ellios was looking at him now, eyes wide, cheeks faintly flushed. The sudden intensity of Hastur's stare had made him self-conscious, his hands instinctively tightening around the towel as though to shield himself.
Hastur straightened.
How can I be influenced like this? he wondered. Is this "mate" bond truly this strong?
Outwardly, his expression returned to calm. Controlled. Perfect.
Ellios wanted to cover himself feeling but was stopped.
"You're… beautiful," Hastur said quietly.
Ellios froze.
Hastur stepped closer, his hand lifting, fingers brushing gently against Ellios's chest. "Irresistible,"
he added, his voice low.
Ellios's heart felt as though it might burst.
Beautiful.
No one had ever called him that before—not like this. Not with such certainty. And the fact that it came from Hastur—his boyfriend—made it infinitely more powerful. His throat tightened as warmth spread through his chest.
He wanted to believe that this was what mattered. That being seen this way, desired this way, was enough.
Still, his voice trembled as he spoke. "Ah… c-can I change?"
Hastur studied him for a moment, then stepped back. "The food is ready," he said evenly. "Come down when you're dressed."
He turned and left, closing the door behind him.
Ellios stood there for a moment, stunned—then smiled brightly.
He dressed quickly, slipping into the yellow clothes laid out for him.
The fabric was soft, well-fitted.
Yellow wasn't his favorite color—he preferred white—but as he adjusted the sleeves, he found he didn't mind.
I can change it for him, he thought.
Outside the door, Hastur paused.
The composure he showed Ellios vanished the moment he was alone.
His jaw tightened. His thoughts churned.
He had perceived feelings differently from mortals for countless ages.
Humans, in his eyes, were fragile, short-lived beings—interesting at times, annoying at others, but never objects of desire. Attraction to them had always felt absurd, like a human desiring an ape.
And yet—
Ellios shattered that certainty.
There had been countless humans who had wanted Hastur—men and women alike. Models and actors. Famous faces, admired bodies, people the world deemed perfect.
He had felt nothing toward them but irritation.
But Ellios…
Ellios made his self-control strain.
Damn it, Hastur thought. Damn these feelings.
He wanted what he wanted. And he would take it.
Damn all his rules. Since he wanted Ellios then he'll take him. Since he want to have sex with him then he will today. He will possess him and get what he desire.
The door opened again.
Ellios stepped out, dressed now, his hair still slightly damp. He looked surprised to see Hastur waiting.
"Were you… waiting for me?" Ellios asked shyly. "So we could go down together?"
Hastur didn't answer immediately.
His thoughts had drifted again.
Ellios tilted his head. "Hastur?"
Hastur blinked, refocusing. "You look good," he said. "Yellow suits you."
Ellios smiled, warmth blooming in his chest. I really am starting to like yellow, he thought.
Hastur felt something settle inside him as he looked at Ellios dressed in his colors. It felt right. Like a mark—subtle, invisible, but undeniable. Like Ellios was already the king in yellow's possession.
Ellios fidgeted slightly, uncertain.
Hastur reached out and took his hand.
Ellios's smile returned instantly, bright and genuine.
They walked together toward the dining room—Ellios glowing with quiet happiness at being held by his boyfriend, and Hastur silently measuring how perfectly their hands fit together, as though they had always been meant to align.