The erection didn't go away.
Julian sat back down on the floor, legs crossed loosely beneath him. His trousers itched slightly, but he ignored the discomfort. Instead, he stared blankly at the wooden wall across the room, trying to push away the lingering heat in his blood.
Moments passed.
Then—soft footsteps. Hesitant. Barely audible.
The door creaked open again.
Annie stepped inside, slower this time, holding a plate in her hands. A simple meal—some bread, a bit of vegetable and meat.
Julian didn't speak. He just watched.
Her eyes flicked to him, then to the floor, then to the blanket now discarded beside him. She said nothing about it. Her face was composed—too composed. The kind of calmness people wore when they were holding something back.
She approached him and crouched down to place the plate near his feet.
"There," she said softly, without meeting his gaze. "Eat before it gets cold."
