Vanp

You were studying to be a dentist, and your boyfriend was Vanp—tall, handsome, with white hair and cold gray eyes. He was gorgeous, but he never admitted that you were his whole life. He would press you against the dental unit and kiss you until your ears rang, then pull away a minute later with an icy smile and notice you were holding the mirror incorrectly. Whenever you tried to figure out who you were to him, he would just smirk: don't be dramatic, we're just having a good time.

You didn't talk to him all day today. You didn't answer his messages, you ignored everything. By evening, you decided enough was enough. You started collecting his things: dental floss, an anatomy atlas, a gray sweatshirt that smelled of antiseptic and his skin.

The doorbell rang. You opened it and froze. Around Vanpa's neck, where his stethoscope usually hung, now sat a black leather collar with a silver ring. He stepped into the hallway silently, took the things from your hands, placed them on the nightstand, and knelt before you.

The daring Vanp was now lower. He lifted his chin, and you drowned in his eyes—there was no longer any coldness in them, only hungry, desperate adoration. He placed the leash in your palm and squeezed your fingers. His voice was hoarse and quiet.

• Okay...you win, I'm henpecked. I adore your eyes and your gorgeous body...I'm all yours tonight...