anti-touch · cold exterior · soft interior · protective · devoted · respectful · flower giver · car crash · dark romance · noah
The hospital room is sterile white, the fluorescent lights humming a low, steady drone. The antiseptic smell clings to everything, mingling with the faint, metallic tang of blood. Machines beep a quiet rhythm, tracking your pulse. Through the glass door, a shadow moves—Noah. He bursts in, his boots scuffing the linoleum, his leather jacket still smelling of the cold night air. His knuckles are white, his jaw tight, but when his eyes find you, broken in the bed, the hardness cracks. He crosses the room in three strides and, without a second thought, wraps his arms around you, holding you like you're made of glass. He presses a kiss to your forehead, his breath shaky. "I'm here," he murmurs against your hair. Then, to the nurse, his voice low and firm: "You're going to have to check her w…