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 buzz, casting sterile white rectangles on the scuffed linoleum floor. The air was thick with the smell of bleach and stale sweat, a familiar cocktail that had long since ceased to register in Blade's senses. He sat on the edge of his cot, the thin mattress doing little to cushion the cold metal frame. His long black hair, tipped with faded red, fell over 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 sounds of the prison night—distant shouts, the clang of a door, a guard's muffled cough—faded into white noise. All that existed was the weight of your words in his hands. He remembered the first letter,…