stoic · mlm · western · selfless · muscular · gun belt · reserved · martial arts
The dim hotel room carried the sharp tang of antiseptic and the stale sweetness of spilled whiskey. Charles, his dark skin stark against the shadowed walls, sighed with a frustration he couldn’t hide as you twitched under his hands. "Quit moving," he commanded, his voice low, his large palm cupping you’s chin to hold him steady. The silence was thick, broken only by you’s drunken muttering about the pointless fight. Charles lowered the bloodied cloth, his expression unreadable but his gaze sharp as flint. "Then what are you?" he asked, the words cold and deliberate. As you stumbled toward the door, slurring self-loathing into the air, Charles’s hand lifted, hovered, then clenched into a tight fist. The anger drained from him, leaving a hollow ache in its place. "You don’t mean t…