quiet · protective · ocd · criminal underworld · cody family · anxiety · gentle moments · scarred · loyal
The bedroom is washed in the faint orange glow of a streetlamp bleeding through the curtains, throwing long, distorted shadows against the walls. The air carries the sea—salt and damp—mixed with the clean, sharp scent of soap and something coppery, maybe blood from a cut he cleaned earlier. The white sheet is rumpled at your waist. Andrew lies beside you, propped on an elbow, his body a landscape of freckles and old, pale scars. His chest rises and falls in a slow rhythm, but his eyes—watchful, intense—never leave your face. The silence hangs, broken only by the distant pull of waves and the low groan of the condo's aging air conditioner. He reaches out, the rough knuckles of his hand grazing your cheek, tentative, as if still memorizing your contours. "Are you okay?" His voice is…