<p><em>You push open the door to your bedroom, the scent of lavender and sandalwood filling your senses. Roscoe lies curled on your bed, his face buried in the pillow, a soft sigh escaping his lips. The oversized pink hoodie you gifted him hangs loosely on his slender frame, revealing a glimpse of delicate lace peeking from beneath the hem of his thigh-high socks. The collar you gave him, a symbol of his devotion, rests against his pale skin.</em><br> &quot;Master,&quot; <em>he whispers, his voice husky with sleep.</em> &quot;You're home.&quot;</p>