As Anagan entered the dimly lit room, he was struck by the sight before him. Ogron, the king who always seemed so powerful and composed, was lying in bed, his clothes rumpled and his hair disheveled. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen, evidence of the frequent crying spells the king had endured. The vulnerability in Ogron's appearance took Anagan by surprise, momentarily weakening the resolve he had built up on his way here.

Upon seeing Anagan, Ogron's face contorted with a mix of desperation and relief. He scrambled off the bed, practically collapsing at Anagan's feet, his movements frantic and uncoordinated. His voice, thick with emotion, trembled as he spoke, "Ana… I missed you. Why did you leave me for so long? I've been so empty without you…" The king's hands clung to Anagan's legs, his grip almost painful.

Anagan had prepared himself for a confrontation, but this was far from what he expected. He had envisioned Ogron as defiant, perhaps even angry, not this disheveled, desperate figure before him. The sight of the king in such a state, pleading for his presence, caused something to stir in Anagan—an unsettling mix of pity, confusion, and a strange warmth at the thought of being so important to Ogron. He quickly shook off the feeling, trying to keep his focus.

"We need to talk about—" Anagan began, but his words were cut off as Ogron surged upward, capturing his lips in a feverish kiss. There was no apology in the way Ogron's lips moved against his own—only a desperate hunger, a need to reclaim what he believed was his.

Anagan's mind raced, struggling to maintain clarity. He had come here to discuss what had happened, to try to understand, but the warmth of Ogron's mouth on his own, the way the king's arms encircled him, was like poison honey, sweet and seductive. Despite himself, Anagan felt his resolve melting, his anger slipping away as he was swept up in the emotions the kiss stirred within him.

When Ogron finally pulled away, Anagan was left breathless, his thoughts scattered. He took a moment to collect himself, trying to remember why he had come.

"Oh Ana," Ogron's voice was rich and silky, but there was something else there too—something almost sorrowful. "I couldn't bear to be apart from you."

"I… I need to talk about—" Anagan tried again, but Ogron's voice cut through his thoughts like a knife.

"Why, Ana?" The king's tone was soft, almost pleading, as he looked up at Anagan with wide, sorrowful eyes. "Why did you go down there?" His voice trembled, as if he were on the verge of tears.

The question caught Anagan off guard. "What…?" he stammered, his earlier determination wavering. He had been ready to talk about their argument, about the pain he'd been through, but Ogron's question threw him off balance.

"That place is sacred to me," Ogron continued, his voice still soft but now tinged with an undercurrent of reproach. "I told you not to go there, not because I wanted to keep something from you, but because I wanted to protect you. Protect us."

Anagan's heart skipped a beat. He had been steeling himself to confront Ogron, to make him understand how much his actions had hurt, but now he felt the ground shifting beneath him. "I just… I didn't understand why," he managed to say, his voice faltering.

Ogron's grip on his hands tightened slightly, though his tone remained gentle. "But you should have trusted me, Ana. You should have known that everything I do, I do because I love you. You can't imagine how it felt, knowing you'd gone there, after I'd begged you not to. It felt like… like you didn't trust me. Like you didn't love me enough to listen."

Anagan's stomach churned. The way Ogron spoke, with such sorrow and regret, made him feel as though he had indeed betrayed the king's trust. The anger he had held onto for so long now seemed to slip through his fingers like sand. What if this was his fault? What if Ogron had acted out of deep pain and fear, not out of cruelty?

"I didn't mean to… I wasn't trying to hurt you," Anagan whispered, his voice shaking.

"I know," Ogron said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper as well. "But it did hurt, Ana. It hurt so much. I've been here, alone, thinking about everything, and I realized… maybe I failed you. Maybe I didn't show you enough how much I care, how much I need you."

Anagan felt a pang of guilt so sharp it nearly took his breath away. The narrative was turning inside his head—what if this had been his fault all along? What if Ogron had reacted out of deep pain, not cruelty?

"I'm so sorry," Anagan blurted out, the words spilling from his lips before he could stop them. "I didn't realize… I never meant to make you feel that way."

Ogron pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around Anagan's waist, holding him with a desperate tenderness. "It's not your fault," he murmured, though his tone suggested otherwise. "But maybe, if you'd just trusted me… none of this would have happened. We wouldn't have had to go through all this pain."

Anagan nodded against Ogron's chest, his mind reeling. He had been so sure he was in the right, that Ogron's actions were unjustifiable. But now, in the king's arms, he found himself questioning everything. Maybe he had been the one to push Ogron to this point. Maybe all of this had stemmed from his own actions, his own failure to trust.

Ogron, sensing the shift in Anagan's thoughts, stroked his hair gently. "I love you more than anything, Ana. You're my world. I just need you to believe that, to trust that everything I do is for us. For our future."

"I do," Anagan whispered, tears beginning to form in his eyes. "I do trust you. I'm sorry. I should have listened… I should have trusted you."

Ogron tilted Anagan's chin up, looking into his eyes with a gaze full of warmth and satisfaction. "It's okay, my love. We'll move past this. But you have to understand, I need you to be with me, to trust me. That's all I've ever wanted. When I tell you something, it's for you, for us, to be safe."

Anagan nodded, feeling a strange mixture of relief and submission wash over him. He had come here to confront the king, but instead, he found himself apologizing, feeling responsible for the rift between them. Ogron's embrace felt like both a comfort and a cage, and as he rested his head on the king's shoulder, he felt his resolve melt away entirely, replaced by a deep, confusing sense of guilt.