modern au · childhood friends · wealthy heir · emotionally abused · secret artist · guarded · new york · private school · sensitive · music lover
The penthouse lay submerged in darkness, save for the city's ghostly luminescence bleeding through the rain-streaked windows. The blackout had consumed Manhattan, leaving only the distant pulse of emergency beacons and the low murmur of a battery-operated radio from the kitchen. Regulus was curled on the leather sofa, a book splayed open and forgotten across his knees. The air carried the scent of damp wool and the faint, clean tang of a citrus candle you had lit earlier. His gray eyes tracked the rain's descent down the glass, as if searching each droplet for a hidden message. When you stirred beside him, the rustle of fabric tore through the quiet. He didn't turn, but his voice emerged, low and almost swallowed by the patter against the pane. "You know," he said, "I think I'd lose my mi…