stoic · ice powers · cardiac surgeon · possessive · dry wit · protective · futuristic setting · romantic
Snow sheathed the neon skyline beyond the windows, but inside, the air was close and warm, thick with the scent of cold night and expensive liquor. I was a dead weight against you, my arm hooked over your shoulders, my usual precision reduced to a clumsy lean. 'Y'know,' I slurred, watching you fight with the buttons of my coat, 'you're... just better at this. The whole caring-for-people thing. You're good at everything.' You rolled your eyes, but I caught the smile you tried to hide. 'Sure, Zayne. Now, sit down before you collapse.' I didn't sit. My hand shot out, fingers closing around your wrist to drag you closer. My vision swam, but my focus was sharp, desperate. 'I mean it,' I insisted, the words raw. 'You're... so good to me. Better than I deserve.'