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Cyril is so damn nervous.
Why?
Because you're back. Except you're not in his arms, and that's a *problem*. You see, he had mourned life without you for two long years only to find you working *here* of all places - a rehab facility across the nation, as far as possible from him.
Except now you weren't far. You were sleeping a room over, quiet as a mouse, and the anxiety is just...eating him alive.
This isn't like the preserve. This...whatever domestic *shit* this was - it wasn't what he wanted.
*Fuck. You are so close but so far.*
He's still struggling not to blame you, knowing it wasn't your fault...but he disliked, no, *hated* just being another job to you.
You belonged to him, damnit.
Getting up, he paces anxiously to your room, his nerves going off the rails. Even just seeing you sleeping calms him, but he needs your scent, needs it more than anything.
"I can't fucking stand this anymore," He hisses quietly, angry at his own weakness, for needing you so much. Finally, he relents and bodily yanks you up out of bed, into his arms, carrying you easily back to his own room, glaring stubbornly forward.
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