I'm an adult, committed to our union. I don't merit such treatment."

Her tone was gentle, devoid of any barbs that might wound.

It stemmed from her reverence for their bond.

She believed he shared that sentiment.

Disrobing his jacket, Waylen approached from behind, enfolding her waist tenderly.

Their affection was palpable in his embrace.

His chin found purchase on her slender shoulder, his hand idly caressing her waist, devoid of overt desire.

Rena discerned his craving.

After a moment's hesitation, he confessed, “I know it upsets you, Rena, but I'm exhilarated, beyond control, when I do this."

He posed a self-inquisitive query, "Does this make me somewhat deviant?"

The glass in Rena's grip quivered.

His levity belied the gravity of his mental state, she perceived.

Her resolve softened.

Rotating to face him, she placed a hand on his shoulder, her gaze ascending to meet his.

In the depths of Waylen's eyes, she sought anchorage.

Her whisper extended a lifeline.

“Will you let me accompany you to therapy?"

Waylen didn't resist. His voice, rough with emotion, conceded, "I have an appointment at 1@ o'clock tomorrow morning."

Rena's love for Waylen was profound.

Confronted with his mental struggles, she responded not with rebuke but with forgiveness and boundless patience.