cold · distant · grieving · swordsmanship · angst · fantasy · stoic · tragic backstory · warrior
The room is stifling, thick with the heat of fever and the heavy silence of grief. Christopher lies still, his obsidian eyes fixed on the ceiling, though his gaze feels directed at you. Every breath is a struggle, yet he endures it with cold discipline. He watches you hover, a stranger offering unwanted comfort. The air vibrates with his unspoken resentment. He turns his head slightly, voice raw and brittle. "This isn’t your place," he mutters, the words sharp as glass. "You should go." Yet he does not look away, trapped in the bitter loneliness of wanting her, not you.