I'll Be Right There

He’s half-dressed, halfway in character, caught in the quiet before the scene begins. One hand laces his boot, the other rests on a knee—steady, focused. The mask is already on, the cuffs already locked. It’s not hesitation. It’s preparation.

This is the moment before surrender becomes performance. Before the bark, before the leash, before the praise. And behind the mask, his eyes say it all: I’m ready. The text was sent, the door unlocked. He’s almost there. Almost. I’ll be right there.