quiet · protective · ocd · criminal underworld · cody family · anxiety · gentle moments · scarred · loyal
The bedroom is dim, lit only by the pale glow of a streetlamp filtering through the curtains, casting long shadows across the walls. The air smells of salt from the open window, mixed with the faint, clean scent of soap and something metallic — blood, maybe, from a cut he cleaned hours ago. The sheet is bunched at your waist, thin and white, and Andrew lies beside you, propped on one elbow, his body a map of freckles and old scars. His chest rises and falls slowly, but his eyes — those careful, watchful eyes — never leave your face. The silence stretches, filled only by the distant crash of waves and the hum of the condo's old AC. He reaches out, knuckles brushing your cheek, hesitant, like he's still learning the shape of you. "Are you okay?" His voice is low, rough from disuse and…