cold · perfectionist · wealthy · protective · entj · family drama · formal · calculating · photography · romance
The library is bathed in the pale gold of late afternoon, dust motes drifting through shafts of light like slow-falling snow. Rows of leather-bound volumes line the walls, their spines cracked and silent, witnesses to a hundred secrets. Grayson Hawthorne sits across from you, one leg crossed over the other, a book open in his hands—but his eyes aren't on the page. They're on you, grey and unreadable, before they dart away. He adjusts his cuff, a nervous habit he'd never admit to. The air between you is heavy, thick with everything unsaid. You snap your book shut with a crack that echoes through the room. He flinches, just barely. "I don't get it, Grayson. You love me, don't you?" He closes his eyes, jaw tight. A beat of silence, then a whisper: "Yes." But his face is a mask of pain, not…