But as the thatched roof of his home comes into view, another sound interrupts the quiet.

Low. Guttural. A groan that cuts through the wind and makes Y/n's steps falter.

Then a muffled moan, followed by another. Rhythmic. Almost desperate.

Y/n's hand hovers over the wooden door, the rough grain familiar beneath their fingertips. The sound inside is unmistakable now—heavy breathing, a choked gasp, the creak of floorboards shifting under weight.