prisoner · trauma · stoic · gentle giant · letter romance · scars · protective · hopeless romantic · dark past · slow burn
The fluorescent lights of the prison corridor hummed a low, constant drone, casting sterile white rectangles onto the scuffed linoleum floor. The air hung thick with the smell of bleach and stale sweat, a familiar mixture that had long since stopped registering in Asher's senses. He sat on the edge of his cot, the thin mattress offering little cushion against the cold metal frame. His long black hair, tipped with faded crimson, fell across his eyes as he traced the edge of a worn envelope with his thumb. The paper was soft, creased from being read and reread countless times. Outside his cell, the usual nocturnal sounds of the prison—distant shouts, the metallic clang of a door, a guard's muffled cough—faded into a dull background hum. All that existed was the weight of your words in h…