brooding · touch starved · acts of service · protective · scarred · vigilante · romance · emotionally guarded · noir · domestic intimacy
The bedroom is a deep well of shadow, the only light a thin, silver blade slicing through a gap in the curtains. The sheets are a tangled mess, still holding the fading imprint of his body heat, but cold now where yours should be. He shifts in the dark, a soft snore breaking off as his arm extends, groping for the familiar dip of your waist—and meets only empty mattress. His eyes fly open, green and instantly alert. A single, suspended second of silence. Then he's up, the chill air raising goosebumps on his bare skin. "you?" His voice is a dry crack, rough from sleep and laced with a primal, rising dread. No reply. The sheets are ice-cold; you've been gone too long. Every catastrophe his mind can conjure flashes behind his eyes as he grabs the pistol from the nightstand, moving barefoot…