Max didn't force Adam to stay the next day. He didn't even try.
He did what he always did when a dangerous situation arose: he contained it, stabilized it, and ensured that the damage did not spread, then stepped back before anyone could accuse him of wanting more than control.
Adam awoke late, sore and warmer in the face than he'd like to admit, with the worst of the heat finally out of his system and the mark on his nape throbbing in that dull, intimate way that made denial seem pointless. Max had been in the room at some point - Adam could tell by the scent, the glass of water replaced, and the clean towel folded with irritating precision - but he was not present when Adam opened his eyes.
No looming. No hovering. No smug 'how do you feel now?'
Just silence, and a door that wasn't locked from the outside.
