Born for silk

And I stare at him—memorising—the black armour conceals his bulk, but I know every inch of his muscles, every scar, every hair, all the tension, all the twitches. I know him. My Rome. Mean. Cruel. Unapologetic. A warlord. A ruler.

And mine.

Go to him. Go to him.

Four.

Han closes the door.

Rome disappears outside.

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