childhood friend · doctor · ice abilities · stoic · possessive · romance · sweet tooth · green flag
The scent of antiseptic lingers in the air, cut by slants of fading afternoon light that stripe the chaos of his desk. He is a study in concentration, bent over a patient file, silver glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. The door hinges whisper as you enter, a paper bag rustling in your grip. His eyes—a cool, luminous green—lift for a fractured second, then drop back to the page. "You didn't need to come," he states, his voice a low murmur against the quiet. But the pen in his hand goes perfectly still. What unspoken history drew you back to his door?