Carlson kissed him again.
He had expected neutrality.
Calculation.
A means to an end.
This was supposed to be Deliberate and intentional . Nothing more.
Eline was only here because he could carry what no one else could.
That was the plan.
But the moment their mouths met again, Carlson felt something fracture in that clean reasoning.
Eline responded without strategy. Without performance. His lips parted instinctively, breath uneven, fingers still pressed into Carlson's back as though that was simply where they belonged now.
Carlson deepened the kiss — not urgently, not recklessly — but because he wanted to.
And that was new.
He slowed it deliberately, adjusting the angle just enough to see Eline's expression shift. The way his lashes trembled. The way his breathing changed when Carlson's hand moved slightly along his side.
He found himself watching.
Studying.
Not to measure compliance.
To capture it.
Every flicker.
Every involuntary reaction.
He shouldn't have cared.
He had touched people before without feeling anything. Without wanting anything beyond control.
Repulsion had always come later — quiet, distant, inevitable.
But here—
There was none.
No disgust.
No detachment.
Only a growing, unsettling satisfaction at the way Eline reacted to him.
Carlson pulled back just slightly, enough to look at him fully.
Eline's eyes were unfocused, body warm beneath his hands, lips parted as though waiting without knowing he was waiting.
Blank.
Completely blank.
Carlson's jaw tightened.
He leaned in again — slower this time — testing something inside himself. The kiss deepened, and Eline responded the same way, open, pliant, instinctive.
And Carlson felt it.
Not obligation.
Not strategy.
Want.
He wanted to see Eline react again.
He wanted to draw it out.
He wanted to see how far that breathless expression could change under his hands.
That realization unsettled him more than anything else tonight.
His mind, which had rejected everyone with clinical indifference, was suddenly alert. Focused. Drawn.
To Eline.
To his body.
To the way he softened when guided.
Carlson's hand stilled for half a second.
This is the potion, he told himself.
A biological response.
He is the only viable carrier. That is all.
Your body is responding to purpose.
To necessity.
Nothing more.
He resumed the kiss with renewed control, anchoring himself in logic. Slower. Measured. Intentional.
But even as he told himself it was instinct and strategy—
He was still watching Eline's face.
Still wanting to see what would happen next.
And that was the part he could not explain away.
"Its just the potion "
Just necessity.
Just the fact that he is the only one capable.
He repeated it like a mantra — even as his hands tightened slightly, even as he continued, even as he chose not to stop.
The room grew quieter except for breath and fabric shifting.
And for the first time in years—
Carlson was not detached.
He was present.
And that unsettled him more than anything else tonight.
Fade out here.
Eline was asleep long before the sky began to lighten.
Exhaustion had claimed him completely. His breathing was slow now, even, his face relaxed in a way Carlson had not seen before. No haze from the potion. No unconscious reactions.
Just stillness.
Carlson remained beside him.
Awake.
He should have left.
The moment it was done — that had been the plan. Clean. Efficient. Detached.
He had never lingered before.
Yet he hadn't moved.
Eline shifted slightly in his sleep, unconsciously turning toward the warmth beside him. His fingers brushed against Carlson's arm, then settled there, loose and trusting.
Carlson stilled.
He waited for irritation.
For instinctive withdrawal.
For that familiar sense of distance to return.
It didn't.
Instead, he found himself watching the small changes in Eline's face — the way his lashes rested against his skin, the faint crease between his brows that disappeared once he settled deeper into sleep.
There was no performance in this version of him.
No reaction to provoke.
No expression to study.
And still, Carlson watched.
Why did I stay?
The question circled quietly in his mind.
This was supposed to be purpose. Strategy. Continuation of a lineage.
Not… this.
Eline shifted again, this time pressing closer, seeking warmth without awareness. His forehead brushed faintly against Carlson's shoulder.
Carlson's breath paused.
He did not move away.
That was the unsettling part.
He did not move.
He looked down at the boy beside him — hair slightly disordered, lips parted faintly in sleep — and something unfamiliar tightened low in his chest.
Not hunger.
Not calculation.
Something softer.
Dangerously so.
He had touched countless people without feeling anything beyond momentary utility.
Yet this boy —
This boy made him stay.
Made him observe the quiet rhythm of his breathing.
Made him aware of the weight of his own hand resting near his waist.
Carlson told himself it was residual instinct.
Biology responding to success.
A territorial response to ensuring the outcome.
That was logical.
That made sense.
But logic did not explain why he found the sight of Eline sleeping against him… pleasing.
Why he felt no repulsion.
Why the thought of someone else standing where he stood now felt unexpectedly unwelcome.
Carlson's gaze sharpened slightly.
That thought lingered.
Unwelcome.
Possessive.
He exhaled slowly, eyes never leaving Eline's face.
"You're inconvenient," he murmured under his breath.
Eline didn't stir.
He only pressed closer.
And Carlson, despite himself, adjusted the blanket slightly to cover him.
He still didn't leave.