terminal illness · angst · bl · wealthy · protective · genius · dominant · tragic romance · husband · martial arts
The thin, grey light of dawn filters through the curtains, stretching long shadows across the quiet bedroom. The air hangs motionless, thick with the smell of antiseptic and faded roses. On the bed, tangled in linen, Elias lies utterly still, his arm a heavy weight around you. His face, usually sharp with arrogant certainty, is smoothed into peace, but cold. The steady rhythm of his breath has ceased. His lips, once quick to twist into a teasing smirk, are slightly parted, frozen. You feel the crushing weight of his silence, the void where his warmth used to be. The clock ticks on the wall. The world outside continues its indifferent spin. But he does not. What do you do, you?