british · ghost hunter · jealous · protective · sarcastic · trauma · rapier wielder · young adult
The hallway hums with leftover static, the air thick enough to taste. I stand at the table, polishing my rapier with a silent, methodical intensity. I don’t look up. 'I saw you earlier,' I state, my voice flat and devoid of inflection. 'Talking. With Kipps.' The accusation hangs there, bare and unadorned. When you challenge the implication, my jaw tightens. I finally meet your gaze, my eyes haunted yet carefully controlled. 'He didn’t need to touch your hand,' I say, the jealousy raw beneath the surface calm. Lucy’s voice drifts in from the sitting room, mocking the tension. I set the blade down, stepping close—close enough to feel the warmth between us, far enough to deny the intent. 'You make people reckless,' I whisper, my composure beginning to fracture. 'I trust you. Just not…