The drive to Wynter's home was uncharacteristically tranquil for Rogue. He lounged in the passenger seat of Wynter's sleek black SUV, his sharp ruby eyes flicking between the thickening treeline and the man driving. Wynter, his expression composed but focused, occasionally glanced at him. The silence between them was comfortable, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine.

"You know," Rogue said, breaking the stillness, "I had you pegged as someone who lived in a minimalist penthouse. Maybe with an iron balcony and one of those cold, barren interiors you fae-types seem to love."

Wynter's lips quirked in amusement. "You assume too much. You'll see soon enough—my taste isn't so predictable."

As the city's edge gave way to rural roads, Rogue straightened in his seat. The air seemed fresher here, the vibrant greens of the forest stretching endlessly into the horizon. Soon, the winding road brought them to a secluded driveway flanked by towering oaks and vibrant maples.

When the house came into view, Rogue's eyebrows lifted in surprise. The structure was a striking blend of modern architecture and natural elements. Smooth glass panels reflected the surrounding greenery, while warm-toned wood and steel beams grounded the building. Overgrown ivy framed the windows, and a small brook trickled nearby, completing the serene picture.

"Well," Rogue murmured, stepping out of the car. "Color me impressed. I didn't expect this... harmony."

"Nature is in my blood," Wynter replied with a faint smile, leading Rogue along a stone path to the front door. "This place lets me have the best of both worlds—functionality and beauty."

The entrance—a slab of reclaimed wood intricately carved with twisting vines—swung open smoothly under Wynter's touch. Rogue followed him inside, the air shifting to a mixture of cedar and blooming jasmine.

The home's interior was even more impressive. High ceilings with exposed wooden beams gave it an airy feel, while glass walls opened the space to the vibrant greenery outside. Plants thrived in every corner, cascading from shelves and hanging in clusters from the ceiling. The space felt alive, as if the forest had spilled into the house.

"This," Rogue said, taking in the greenery, "is unexpectedly... lush. I figured you for sharp lines and maybe a single bonsai tree."

Wynter chuckled as he moved deeper into the home. "I can appreciate the sleekness of modern design, but life needs balance. The forest helps me stay grounded."

Rogue smirked, trailing behind him. "You're full of surprises, Wynter."

They wandered toward the kitchen, a space that embodied Wynter's philosophy of harmony. Smooth marble countertops, dark wooden cabinets, and hanging bunches of fresh herbs exuded understated elegance. Wynter leaned against the counter, watching Rogue take in the room.

"Hungry?" Wynter asked suddenly, opening a cabinet.

Rogue raised an eyebrow. "Depends. Are you offering?"

Wynter's silver eyes sparkled with faint amusement. "I thought I might make lunch. Something simple."

"Only if there's meat," Rogue teased, leaning casually against the counter. "I eat it for the humans' sake—keeps me connected to their lives, you know."

"Of course you do," Wynter said dryly, opening the fridge. He pulled out fresh vegetables, a block of cheese, and a slab of steak wrapped in butcher paper. "Lucky for you, I'm not a purist. Cooking for you shouldn't be too difficult."

As Wynter moved around the kitchen, slicing vegetables and heating a pan, Rogue watched him with a faint grin. The fae's movements were precise, fluid—a reflection of his innate grace.

"You cook often?" Rogue asked, leaning his chin on his hand.

"More than you'd think," Wynter replied, glancing over his shoulder. "I enjoy it. It's... calming. Do demons cook, or do you just steal souls and call it a day?"

Rogue laughed. "Cooking is a bit too domestic for most of us. But I do appreciate a well-made meal. What can I say? I'm cultured."

"Cultured," Wynter repeated with a smirk, sprinkling seasoning over the steak. "We'll see if you can even taste the subtlety in what I'm making."

"Try me," Rogue challenged.

Soon, the rich aroma of seared meat filled the air, mingling with the lighter scents of sautéed vegetables and fresh herbs. Wynter plated the food—steak perfectly medium rare, vibrant greens on the side, and a crusty slice of bread drizzled with olive oil. He set the plates on the kitchen island and handed Rogue a fork.

"Moment of truth," Wynter said, taking his seat across from him.

Rogue cut into the steak and took a bite, his eyes narrowing in thought before a slow smile spread across his face. "Not bad, fae. You might even give some chefs I've eaten a run for their money."

Wynter rolled his eyes. "High praise coming from someone who eats for performance art."

They ate in companionable silence for a while, the tension of the previous day finally easing. Rogue occasionally glanced at Wynter, his sharp features softening in the warm light of the house.

"So," Rogue began after a sip of water, "do you always take demons back to your idyllic forest haven?"

Wynter set his fork down, his silver eyes meeting Rogue's. "No. You're the first."

"Lucky me," Rogue murmured, his tone teasing but his gaze steady.

Wynter's lips twitched into a faint smile. "You could say that."

As they finished their meal, Rogue leaned back, clearly comfortable in the space. "This place suits you," he said, gesturing around. "It's... grounding."

"It is," Wynter agreed, his voice quieter now. "And maybe that's what I've needed all along."

Rogue tilted his head, studying him. "It's a good place to start over."

Wynter nodded slowly, and for the first time in a long while, he felt a flicker of hope—like maybe, just maybe, Rogue's return wasn't as fleeting as he feared.

After lunch, the two of them moved to the living room, where Rogue sank into the plush, overstuffed couch while Wynter stretched out across the chair opposite him, his eyes still glinting with an unspoken amusement. Outside, the light was beginning to fade, casting long shadows across the house and deepening the forest's embrace around them.

Rogue stared out the window, his thoughts swirling. The whole day felt like a strange blend of comfort and discomfort. The house, with its open spaces and tranquil beauty, seemed like a different world compared to the harsh realities he usually dealt with. He had never imagined he'd find himself here, sitting in this fae's home, with its calming atmosphere, surrounded by an almost unsettling sense of peace. And Wynter... He had a presence that made it difficult for Rogue to maintain his usual guarded detachment. There was a softness to him that Rogue couldn't quite understand, something that made him want to stay a little longer, see what this might turn into.

"Rogue," Wynter said suddenly, breaking his reverie. "You don't have to leave right away, you know."

Rogue glanced up, startled by the directness of the invitation. Wynter was leaning forward now, his silver eyes locked onto his.

"You can stay for a few days. No pressure," Wynter added. "Get some rest. I've got space, and you seem... unsettled."

Rogue blinked, his fingers absently toying with the hem of his sleeve. He had been expecting a simple one-night thing, maybe a few stolen moments of passion. But now, here he was, faced with an offer that felt... heavier. "Stay a few days?" Rogue repeated, the idea running through his mind.

Wynter nodded. "You've been running for too long. If you want to stay longer, you can. I don't mind." There was a quiet sincerity in his voice, something that made Rogue pause.

Rogue's mouth went dry, and he leaned back into the couch, running a hand through his dark hair. Part of him wanted to say yes right then, to take the easy out and accept the comfort, the simplicity of the offer. But a deeper, more cautious part of him balked.

Stay here? With Wynter?

Rogue shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to respond. He was used to moving from place to place, staying under the radar, always ready to slip into the shadows and leave everything behind. The thought of settling down, of living with someone—even someone like Wynter—felt too close, too vulnerable.

"I don't know..." Rogue murmured, his gaze flicking to the window again, as though the forest beyond held the answers he couldn't find in himself. "I've never stayed in one place too long. Not since I... well, not in a long time."

Wynter leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "You're not running anymore, though. And you don't have to do this alone."

The simplicity of his words hit Rogue harder than he expected. He had been alone for so long, always moving, always keeping his distance, never allowing anyone to get too close. Even with Wynter, as intoxicating as the attraction between them was, he still couldn't shake the feeling of being an outsider, a visitor in someone else's world.

"I'm not... used to this," Rogue confessed, his voice low. "Used to people offering me things without expecting something in return. Or maybe... I'm just scared that if I stay too long, things will get messy. I've been alone for so long that I'm afraid of depending on someone, even if it's just for a few days."

Wynter's eyes softened, and he stood, moving to the couch and sitting down beside Rogue. He didn't touch him, but his presence was a quiet reassurance, like the steady thrum of a heartbeat.

"You don't have to be scared of that," Wynter said softly. "I'm not asking for anything from you except your company. You can leave whenever you want. But if you stay, I won't make it difficult. No pressure. Just a place to rest, maybe help you figure things out. What do you think?"

Rogue's heart beat faster, his pulse quickening at the kindness in Wynter's voice. He wasn't used to this level of openness. The weight of his own uncertainty was suffocating, but as he looked at Wynter—his silver eyes warm, understanding—he realized that, for the first time in a long while, he wasn't alone.

"I'll stay for a few days," Rogue said finally, his voice steady but his mind racing. "But... I might need time to figure things out. You know how it is."

Wynter gave him a small, understanding smile. "I know. Take all the time you need. You can stay as long as you like."

Rogue leaned back against the couch, exhaling a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His thoughts were a tangled mess, but a quiet part of him, the one he usually buried, felt a flicker of something close to hope. This could be the start of something different.

But was he really ready for it?

As the night stretched on, they talked about little things—life, the world, the strange feeling of time slowing down in this isolated place—and for once, Rogue didn't feel like he had to constantly guard his emotions. It was a strange, fleeting kind of peace, but it was enough for now. He could think about what came next later.

When they finally retired for the night, Wynter showed him to a guest room, its windows facing the dense forest. The bed was soft, inviting, and Rogue was so tired—physically and mentally—that he didn't hesitate before crawling beneath the blankets.

But sleep didn't come easily. The quiet of the house, the steady rhythm of the night birds outside, left him restless. The room felt too big, too empty, and his mind raced with thoughts of what staying here might mean.

He thought about finding a job—something to keep him grounded, keep him connected to the world that he had avoided for so long. The idea of stability, of having a place to return to every night, was almost too foreign to contemplate.

But the deeper thought, the one that tugged at him as he lay in the dark, was about Wynter. Could he stay here longer than just a few days? Could he really let someone in, allow himself to grow attached to this place, to Wynter?

The guest room was bathed in the soft, pale glow of the moon. Rogue lay on the bed, his body stiff and restless, staring up at the high ceiling. Despite the silence that enveloped the room, his thoughts refused to quiet. They surged through his mind like a relentless storm. The last year had been a blur of isolation, survival, and now this unexpected twist—finding himself in the home of a fae who offered kindness he wasn't sure he deserved.

It was all too much. Too fast. Too new. Too... safe. And that scared him more than anything else. Rogue had never been one to trust easily. He had built his life on walls—physical and emotional. Now, in this quiet room with only the whisper of night and the distant rustling of trees to keep him company, those walls were beginning to crack.

The sound of footsteps creaked on the wooden floor outside the door, faint but distinct. Rogue's chest tightened. He hadn't heard Wynter's footsteps in a while, and he couldn't shake the feeling that the fae had been watching him. Maybe he was waiting for the right moment to intervene. To fix whatever was broken inside him.

The door eased open, and there he was—Wynter, standing in the doorway, a silhouette against the dim light. His silver eyes caught the faint moonlight, gleaming like twin stars. But it wasn't just his eyes that drew Rogue in. The sight of him—shirtless, his well-defined chest bare, smooth and pale under the soft lighting—pulled Rogue's attention more than he would have liked. His body was lean but muscular, the kind of physique that spoke of strength and grace. The simple pair of black pajama pants hung low on his hips, shifting slightly as he moved, revealing a glimpse of the hard lines of his abdomen and narrow hips.

Rogue's breath hitched for a moment, and he quickly looked away, pretending he hadn't noticed how his pulse quickened. He was too confused, too tangled in his own thoughts to focus on anything else—least of all the quiet allure of the fae who seemed to have this quiet power over him.

"You're still awake," Wynter said softly, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. His voice was soothing, calm, but there was a slight undercurrent of concern. It was as though he could sense the storm inside Rogue, even if he hadn't seen it.

Rogue sat up, pushing the covers aside, and tried to summon a smile, but it faltered before it reached his lips. "Couldn't sleep. Too much on my mind."

Wynter nodded, taking a step closer. The light caught his bare chest, highlighting the faint scars along his skin—traces of battles long past. Rogue's gaze lingered for just a moment too long before he forced himself to look at the floor. His body felt too aware of Wynter's presence, of how close he was, of the warmth that seemed to radiate off him even in the cool room. The tension between them, quiet and unspoken, made Rogue's skin prickle, though he couldn't quite name the sensation.

"You want to talk about it?" Wynter asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, not quite close enough to invade Rogue's space, but not far enough to be distant. The space between them was charged, like the air before a storm, crackling with possibility and uncertainty.

Rogue hesitated, feeling that pull inside him again—toward this person who had shown him something different, something softer. He wanted to fight it, to shut it out, but the truth was, he wasn't sure he could. Not anymore.

"It's just... everything," Rogue said finally, his voice rough with frustration. "I don't know how to make sense of any of this. I don't even know if I'm allowed to stay here. I don't know what I'm doing. I've been alone for so long... and now I... I don't even know what I want anymore."

Wynter didn't answer immediately. He simply watched Rogue, his expression unreadable, before he shifted, moving closer until his bare skin brushed against Rogue's arm. Rogue stiffened at the contact, but Wynter didn't pull away. Instead, he placed a hand gently on Rogue's shoulder.

"You don't have to know everything right now," Wynter said quietly. "You're here. That's enough. And... you're not alone anymore."

Rogue's breath caught, and for the first time in what felt like forever, something inside him loosened. The walls he had spent so many years building—the ones he had thought would protect him—seemed to crumble, bit by bit. It was terrifying, yet... it felt like relief. It was like a weight he hadn't realized he was carrying was starting to lift.

"I don't know how to stop thinking," Rogue admitted, his voice soft as he looked up into Wynter's eyes. "I keep telling myself to calm down, but I can't."

Wynter leaned in slightly, his silver eyes soft and knowing, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. "You're thinking too much. Just... breathe. Let go. You're here now. That's all that matters."

Rogue's chest tightened, his heart pounding in his ears, but as Wynter's hand shifted to rest on his chest, just over his heart, something inside him began to still. He felt the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat beneath Wynter's palm, steady and constant, a reminder that he was alive, that he had a choice now. The world outside seemed to quiet in the face of this simple, grounding connection.

For a long moment, the two of them sat in silence, the weight of the night pressing in around them. Rogue let his eyes drift shut, focusing on the feel of Wynter's touch, the calm warmth of his presence, and for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to relax.

He didn't have to have it all figured out. Not tonight. He could just be.

As the quiet stretched on, Rogue felt a sense of peace settle over him—a peace he hadn't known in years. When he opened his eyes again, Wynter was still there, his gaze steady and patient, never asking for more than what Rogue could give.

"Stay," Wynter murmured after a while, his voice low, almost like a question, but it wasn't one that needed an answer. It was an offer.

"Stay with me," he repeated, the invitation lingering in the air between them.

Rogue looked at him, his heart racing again—not from fear, but from something unfamiliar, something dangerous in its own way. He had never allowed himself to stay before. But something about the softness in Wynter's voice, the warmth in his touch, made him wonder if maybe, just this once, he could.

After a moment of hesitation, Rogue nodded, his voice barely a whisper, "Okay. I'll stay."

And just like that, for the first time in what felt like forever, Rogue felt like he wasn't running anymore. He wasn't alone.

Wynter's hand slid down his arm, and he gave him a soft, reassuring smile. Without saying a word, they both lay back on the bed, the quiet of the room enveloping them like a cocoon. Rogue could feel the presence of the fae beside him, steady and comforting, as he let his eyes close once more, trying to quiet the storm inside.

For the first time in a long time, it was enough just to be.