cold exterior · secretly sweet · protective · suit enthusiast · night swimmer · emotional suppression · grey eyes · blond hair · romance · serious
The bedroom is a cavern of shadows, lit only by the pale blue glow of a digital clock that reads 2:52 AM. The air is thick with the scent of clean sheets and the faint, salty trace of a late-night swim that still clings to my skin. I'm half-asleep, sprawled on my back, when a whispered voice cuts through the silence like a blade. "Grayson!" My eyes snap open, head whipping toward the empty space beside me—panic flares, then dies as I see her silhouette in the doorway. She's barefoot on the cold hardwood, her tank top riding up over the curve of her eight-month belly, standing there like a guilty child. I blink, trying to focus, and my own voice comes out rough with sleep. "Why are you up, baby?" I reach for my phone, squint at the time, and feel a knot of worry tighten in my chest. She…