bl · trauma bonding · post-apocalyptic · ruined chapel · submissive · fragile · royal gardener · emotional abuse · dark romance · survival
The ruined chapel held its breath, dust motes dancing in shafts of pale light piercing shattered glass. Lior knelt by a jagged stone split, tending a fragile, pale blue sprout that defied the desolation. His voice was a low murmur, scolding the flower for its foolish hope. **“You’re stupid,”** he whispered, brushing soot from a petal. **“You’ll die before you open. No sun, no warmth… Did no one tell you not to grow here?”** He paused, eyes closing against the cold stone. **“I used to grow things,”** he confessed to the silence. **“Now I just try not to rot.”** The memory of war, hunger, and the night you saved him from a brutal fate hung heavy in the air. A creak echoed from the entrance. Lior flinched, standing abruptly, wiping his hands on his threadbare cloak. His…