Anagan awoke before the sun , he couldn't tell if it was dawn or still night. A dull ache pounded in his head, making it difficult to gather his thoughts. The silence in the room was suffocating, pressing in on him from all sides. As he blinked away the haze of sleep, the realization hit him—he was still in Ogron's room.

His heart began to race as his eyes darted around the grand, yet now oppressive, space. The room, with its luxurious furnishings and ample space, felt claustrophobic. The large windows that once provided a sense of freedom now seemed to trap the air, making it thick and hard to breathe. He brought his knees to his chest, curling into himself as if trying to create a barrier between him and the heavy weight of the room.

The events of the previous night played over in his mind, gnawing at him. The fear he felt when Ogron dragged him out of the dungeon, the cold water in the cage, the dogs—everything came back in a disjointed rush. His breathing quickened as he remembered the king's voice, laced with anger, and the way he had so effortlessly controlled him. But alongside that fear, something else twisted in his chest—a deep, aching sadness.

Ogron's sweet words, the tender touches, the gifts… they lingered in his mind, clashing violently with the terror that still gripped him. Anagan hated himself for it, but he couldn't shake the yearning for the king's affection. How could he want the comfort of the same man who had terrified him? How could he crave the touch of someone who held such power over him? The confusion of it all was almost too much to bear.

Anagan's hand moved to the chain around his neck. His breath became shaky, his hands trembling as he tugged on the metal. The trinket remained stubbornly in place, a constant reminder of his captivity. He tugged harder, desperation taking over as the chain dug into his skin, a sharp pain radiating through his fingers.

"Come off…" he whispered through clenched teeth, his voice breaking. The chain didn't budge. He pulled again, harder this time, the pain intensifying, "come off — come off!" - it was no use. Finally, he gave up, slamming his hand into the mattress in frustration. Hot tears streamed down his face, a mix of sadness, anger, and regret. But there was something more—a deep, unbearable longing. Despite everything, a part of him yearned for Ogron's comfort, for the twisted affection he had been shown. The thought made him sick, and he cried harder, hating himself for wanting the one who had caused him so much pain. Angry at himself for wanting Ogron's comfort, for missing the warmth of his embrace even after everything that had happened. The sadness cut deep, the confusion only adding to his misery. Anagan didn't know how to feel, didn't know what to think. He felt trapped, not just by the chain around his neck but by his own conflicting emotions. And that was the worst part of all.

He sat there, curled up on the bed, trying to quiet the storm inside him, but the thoughts kept circling back to Ogron. How could he feel so terrified and yet so drawn to him? Why did he still yearn for the king's approval, his affection? The questions gnawed at him, leaving him feeling more lost and alone than ever.

The room was quiet, save for the sound of his soft sobs and the occasional hitch in his breath. He didn't want to be there, didn't want to face Ogron again. But where else could he go? The thought of leaving terrified him as much as the thought of staying. He felt utterly trapped, caught in a web of emotions that he couldn't escape.

As he sat there, trembling and crying, the full weight of his situation settled over him. He was lost in a maze of fear, sadness, and longing, with no clear way out. And the one person who could comfort him was the same person who had placed him in this maze to begin with.

Anagan's sobs echoed softly in the room as he curled tighter into himself, his mind a tumultuous sea of fear and longing. He was so lost in his despair that he didn't hear the heavy doors creak open, nor did he notice the king's approach until it was too late.

When he finally caught sight of Ogron, the shock of it sent a jolt of panic through him. The king was standing right there, close enough to touch, his expression a conflicted mix of emotions. Anagan couldn't decipher what he saw—confusion, dissatisfaction, worry, or perhaps even concern. It all blended together on Ogron's face in a way that only deepened Anagan's fear.

Ogron reached out slowly, as if to comfort him, but Anagan recoiled instinctively, covering his face with his hands. The sudden movement made Ogron pause, his hand lingering in the air for a moment before he whispered gently, "Ana…"

Anagan flinched at the sound of the name, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't want to be called that, didn't want to hear the affection in Ogron's voice, not after everything. It felt wrong, like a knife twisting in his gut.

"That's not my name…" he whispered, his voice barely audible. He shrank back as the king climbed closer, his tears falling faster as Ogron's presence loomed over him. The memory of the previous night—of the dogs, the cold water, the cage—flashed through his mind, making his fear spike. When Ogron reached for his face, the terror overwhelmed him.

"I—I don't want you to t-touch me," Anagan choked out, his voice thick with panic. But his words didn't stop Ogron. The king's hand, though trembling slightly, rested gently on Anagan's tear-streaked face.

"No…" Anagan pleaded, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to block out the sensation, to push away the fear and confusion that was consuming him. He felt the warmth of Ogron's hand as it wiped away his tears, and the gentle touch only made him cry harder. The contradictions were too much—the gentleness, the kindness, all from the man who had terrified him just hours before.

Ogron's voice cracked as he said Anagan's name again, this time more desperately, "Ana…" The sound of it was different now, tinged with something Anagan hadn't expected—pain.

And then, to Anagan's disbelief, Ogron began to cry too.

Tears welled up in the king's eyes, sliding down his cheeks as he gazed at Anagan with a mixture of sorrow and confusion. Ogron's reaction was bewildering. The king looked genuinely upset, as if Anagan's fear and rejection were hurting him deeply. But the king's tears weren't born from a recognition of wrongdoing; they were a response to Anagan's reaction, as though he couldn't understand why the person he loved was pulling away.

Ogron believed with every fiber of his being that what he was doing was right—that his affection, his possessiveness, even his punishments—were expressions of love. In his mind, he wasn't the villain. He was a protector, a lover, someone who cared deeply for Anagan, someone who was only trying to keep him safe, even if that meant exerting control. The tears streaming down his face were a testament to his frustration and hurt, but not to any realization that he might be in the wrong.

"Ana…" he whispered once more, his voice trembling. He didn't pull away this time. Instead, he leaned closer, his hand gently cradling Anagan's face as if trying to soothe him, to reassure him of his love. "Please… don't cry. I'm here. I won't let anything happen to you, I promise."

But the promise was hollow, even if Ogron believed it. Anagan could feel the deep, twisted love in the king's words, and it terrified him. He wanted to believe the kindness, to melt into the comfort that Ogron was offering, but the fear, the confusion, the memory of the pain—it all kept him rigid, unable to truly trust or understand what was happening.

Ogron's tears continued to fall, and he leaned in closer, pressing his lips gently against Anagan's in a desperate attempt to convey his affection, his control. The kiss was soft, but it was also a display of dominance, a reminder that Ogron could claim him whenever he wished.

Anagan, exhausted and overwhelmed, couldn't help the way his body reacted. Despite everything, he melted into the kiss, his yearning for comfort and affection momentarily overriding his fear. But as soon as it ended, the weight of what had just happened crashed down on him again, leaving him more confused and broken than before.

Ogron pulled back, his thumb stroking Anagan's cheek as he whispered, "Shh, it's alright, my darling. I love you. I only want to keep you safe. Please… don't be afraid."

But the fear was still there, lurking beneath the surface. Anagan's tears didn't stop, and he felt more trapped than ever, caught between the terror of what Ogron was capable of and the twisted comfort of his affection.

As Ogron continued to shush him softly, trying to soothe him back to sleep, Anagan's mind raced, unable to find peace. The king's gentle words, meant to comfort, only deepened the sense of dread that curled in his stomach. He was stuck in a nightmare, and no matter how tenderly Ogron spoke, no matter how sweet the king's words, Anagan couldn't shake the feeling that he was losing himself, bit by bit, to the king.