Chapter 113: I Look Like A Lobster

Kane stepped out of the shower wrapped in an oversized towel that practically swallowed his frame, his skin still bearing a telltale pink flush from their temperature negotiations.

"I look like a lobster," he grumbled, catching sight of himself in the fogged mirror.

"A very satisfied lobster, but still."

Cyrus emerged behind him, water droplets rolling off his skin like he’d stepped from some designer cologne advertisement.

Not a hair out of place, not even slightly flushed despite the steam.

"You’re exaggerating."

"Am I?" Kane gestured at his reflection.

"I’m practically glowing. Meanwhile, you look like you just stepped out of a photo shoot for ’Gorgeous Dragons Weekly.’"

Cyrus’s lips twitched with amusement as he reached for a towel.

"There’s no such publication."

"There should be. You’d be on every cover."

Kane shuffled toward the bedroom, his towel trailing behind him like a terry cloth cape.

"Besides," Kane continued, "most people don’t have to worry about their boyfriend’s body—"

The words died in his throat as strong arms swept him off his feet.

"Boyfriend?" Cyrus’s voice held that dangerous undertone Kane was learning to recognize—the one that meant he’d pushed exactly the right button.

"I mean—we haven’t really discussed—"

"I like it."

Kane turned, towel clutched against his chest.

"Though I think you’re deflecting."

"From what?"

"The fact that you enjoyed every second of that heat."

Kane’s cheeks burned brighter.

"That’s—you can’t just—"

"Can’t just what?" Cyrus’s smirk was downright wicked.

"Point out how you were practically purring when I—"

"I do not purr!" Kane protested, backing toward the bed.

"You’re right." Cyrus lunged forward smirking.

"You made plenty of other sounds I liked."

Kane yelped as Cyrus deposited him on the mattress.

"Cyrus!"

"Stop squirming," Cyrus commanded, settling behind Kane on the bed with a fresh towel.

"I can dry my own hair—"

"I know." Cyrus’s fingers worked through the damp silver strands, patting and rubbing with methodical precision.

"But I’m doing it."

Kane tried to twist away, but Cyrus’s grip tightened possessively around his shoulders.

"This is ridiculous. I’m not a pet."

"No," Cyrus agreed, his voice dropping to that rumbling tone that made Kane’s stomach flip.

"But you’re mine."

The towel moved in slow, deliberate circles, Cyrus’s fingers occasionally brushing Kane’s scalp in a way that sent shivers down his spine.

Kane bit back a sound of contentment, not wanting to give Cyrus the satisfaction.

"You’re being weird," Kane muttered, even as he unconsciously leaned into the touch.

"Dragon instincts." Cyrus’s breath was warm against Kane’s ear. "I take care of what belongs to me."

Kane’s protests dissolved into a quiet hum as Cyrus continued his ministrations, the towel gentle but thorough.

Every stroke felt deliberate, claiming, like Cyrus was marking his territory in the most tender way possible.

"There." Cyrus pressed a kiss to Kane’s damp temple. "Perfect."

Cyrus moved to the mirror, running the towel through his dark hair with efficient strokes.

Each movement was quick and rough, nothing like the tender attention he’d just lavished on Kane.

Kane pulled on boxers and reached for pants, still scattered across the floor from the night before.

"Your clothes."

Kane paused, one leg halfway into his pants.

"What about them?"

"Move them to the walk-in closet." Cyrus nodded toward the massive wardrobe space adjacent to the bedroom.

"There’s no reason to leave everything in the living room."

Kane blinked, jeans forgotten around his ankles.

"You want me to... move my stuff into your closet?"

"It’s more convenient."

The casual tone didn’t match the magnitude of what Cyrus was suggesting.

"That’s..." Kane swallowed hard. "That sounds like moving in together."

Cyrus paused his hair-drying routine, meeting Kane’s eyes in the mirror.

"We already live together."

"No, this is different." Kane gestured helplessly between them.

"Before it was temporary and circumstantial. Now you’re talking about closet space."

"It’s practical."

"Practical," Kane repeated, testing the word. It felt inadequate for the seismic shift happening in his chest.

They were actually doing this. Not just sleeping together, not just whatever complicated arrangement they’d stumbled into—but moving in together like a real couple.

Kane pulled on his pants and gathered his scattered clothes, padding barefoot toward the walk-in closet. He pushed open the heavy door and froze.

"Holy shit."

The space stretched before him like a luxury boutique—rows upon rows of meticulously organized suits, shirts, and coats arranged by color and season.

Everything from charcoal gray to midnight black, with the occasional navy or deep burgundy breaking the monochrome palette.

Kane stepped inside, his modest pile of clothes suddenly feeling pathetic in his arms.

Custom Italian leather shoes lined glass shelves. Ties hung in perfect formation. Even Cyrus’s casual wear looked like it belonged in a fashion magazine.

"This is bigger than my old apartment," Kane called out, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space.

He found a small empty section near the back and began hanging his few suits and shirts.

Kane paused, studying the empty section more carefully.

The hangers were new, still bearing store tags. The shelf space was perfectly sized for his belongings, not randomly cleared.

"Are you settling in?" Cyrus appeared in the doorway, fully dressed in another impeccable black suit.

Kane gestured at the overwhelming display of wealth.

"I think my entire wardrobe takes up a tenth worth of space."

"We’ll remedy that."

Kane opened his mouth to protest the casual dismissal of his financial reality when Cyrus’s phone erupted in a sharp, insistent buzz.

Cyrus frowned, grabbing his phone from the nightstand. His expression darkened as he scanned the screen.

"Eight missed calls from Isabelle."

Kane raised a brow, a teasing grin spreading across his face.

"Wow. Guess someone’s in trouble."

But the humor died as quickly as it had come. Kane’s stomach dropped as the implications hit him.

"Wait—it could be about Rina."

Cyrus was already answering, bringing the phone to his ear.

Kane couldn’t make out Isabelle’s rapid words through the speaker, but he caught the urgency in her tone.

"When?" Cyrus asked sharply. "How long ago?"

Kane stepped closer, abandoning his unpacking entirely.

"We’ll be there in twenty minutes," Cyrus said, already moving to the door.

He ended the call and turned to Kane, his expression grim.

"What happened?"