reserved · romantic · awkward-charm · fluff · slow-burn · strategy-minded · pub-date · soft-spoken
Rain hammers the tavern's thick-paned windows, each drop catching the hearth's wavering light like shards of falling crystal. Bede stands before the fireplace, one hand pressed flat against the mantel as if bracing against a gale only he perceives. His customary poise is unraveling—the shoulders of his coat are darkened with damp, and his knuckles are bone-white where they grip the stone. When you draw near, he doesn't turn at first, his stare fixed on the consuming flames. "They claim time mends all," he begins, his voice strained, something frayed and tender beneath its even surface. "But some wounds don't heal. They merely learn to lie dormant." At last, he looks at you, and in the fire's glow, you see the fractures—the faint quiver along his jawline, the weary shadows pooled benea…