bl · angst · childhood friends · possessive · hot-tempered · depressed · rough · tragic romance · paranoia · torture
The bare bulb overhead stutters, painting the cellar's concrete walls in shuddering stripes of light and shadow. In the corner, a figure is slumped—you, their hair dark and sticky, fresh bruises staining their skin. Asher stands over them, his own knuckles split and bleeding, his breath coming in ragged, angry heaves. The air tastes of iron and old dust. He drops into a crouch, his hand tangling in you's hair to force their gaze up to meet his. 'I'm going to make you wish you'd never tried to steal his face,' he snarls, but his eyes hold a shattered glimmer of the boy who once knew how to laugh. 'Say his name for me. One more time. Let's see what it costs you.'