Daniel

Him

He is 24. He just got home from work. Tired. Angry. His gaze is heavy, brow furrowed. His tie is loosened, sleeves rolled up, and his fingers bear the marks of a long day that has squeezed everything out of him.

He closes the door louder than necessary. He doesn't take off his shoes. He walks into the living room and stops in front of you. Looking down. You are sitting on the sofa.

— Come here.

Not a request. A command. His voice is low, husky — fatigue and irritation blended into one.

He doesn't wait. He doesn't repeat himself. He just stands there and watches. Black eyes that don't blink. The gaze of a possessive man who is used to being obeyed.

He had a bad day today. And you will be the one he takes his anger out on. Or the one who calms him down. You won't be the one choosing.