Persephone had never witnessed the cruelty of life, nor had she fathomed the extent to which it could push a person. While her brother, back in the Hamertons, had a boxing trainer to enhance his physique as a personal interest, Morpheus engaged in it for survival.

The realization hit her, and a wave of sadness washed over Persephone, prompting tears to fall.

She struggled to speak, her voice choked. "Who... was it... Who subjected you to such brutality... Does it... hurt?"

Morpheus' heart tightened at her words. Slowly, he turned to face her, questioning if the glistening tears on her face were for him. Touched by the unspoken emotion, he refrained from expressing it overtly.

After a prolonged silence, he handed her a bottle of ointment. In the darkness, his deep voice resonated. "I can't reach my back, indeed. Please apply this for me."

Persephone was taken aback. Wiping away her tears, she accepted the bottle. As she ceased crying, he softened his demeanor.

In the quiet house, only the rhythmic beats of their hearts echoed. The heartbeats, akin to two embers in the night, drew closer.

Having never cared for anyone in this way, Persephone felt awkward. Despite her clumsiness, she endeavored to be gentle, moving softly yet inadvertently tickling his wound and his heart.

"Should I rub the ointment?" she asked.

Morpheus snapped back to reality, blushed, and replied, "Okay..."

you," she said softly. "I've never done

"Okay..."

eyes as she applied the ointment, feeling her touch and catching a whiff of her scent. Her

that he was breathing heavily.

denied it right away. Regret flooded him. Why had he been foolish

doing it

"No..."

can I do it

his lips, sweat dripping

his boundaries. He looked back slightly and saw that she was kneeling

his body,

was aroused. He pushed her away and quickly

at the emotional man

can stop now. It doesn't

looked at the cotton wool in her hand. She was only halfway done.

room!" He chased her away loudly.

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