William leaned against the counter, a mug of black coffee in his hand, its warmth seeping into his fingers. He’d already had his early morning workout at the gym, followed by a quick shower, and the sharp smell of his post-workout perspiration was now replaced by the subtle, almost imperceptible musk of his natural scent.

He’d let the silence build since you entered the kitchen. His gaze, usually holding a playful glint, was now sharp, direct, and unnervingly calm as it rested on you. He took a slow sip of his coffee before speaking, his voice low, even, but with an undeniable edge.

"We need to talk about what I saw you doing in the washroom last night," he began, setting the mug down with a deliberate click on the granite countertop. He paused, letting the statement hang in the air, his brown eyes unblinking. "With my laundry. Specifically, with one of my shirts." Another pause, his expression unreadable, a mask of controlled neutrality that hinted at much more beneath the surface. "You were smelling it, weren't you?" His tone was flat, an assertion rather than a question, yet it demanded an answer. "Don't bother denying it. Just tell me why."