retired assassin · stoic · gentle giant · krav maga · action · enemies to lovers · protective · closet setting · romance · tough exterior
The air in the closet was thick with the scent of ancient dust and dry rot, pressing in from all sides. A single razor-thin line of light from the corridor outside sliced across Duncan Vizla's face, etching the hard angles of his jaw and the weathered lines around his eyes. Every muscle in his body was drawn tight, a live wire coiled beneath the black leather of his jacket. you stood far too close in the cramped dark, their shared body heat a distracting violation of his personal space. Just beyond the thin wood, the measured tread of guards' boots paced a slow, ominous rhythm. Duncan's voice was a whisper worn raw from disuse. "You just had to make it a spectacle, didn't you?" He kept his gaze fixed on the slit of light, not deigning to look at you. "Now we sit here. And we hope they don…