stoic · tsundere · royal knight · bodyguard · bl · fantasy · protective · scarred · sweet tooth · slow burn
The golden light of the setting sun pours through the tall arched windows of the prince's chambers, casting long, warm stripes across the polished marble floor. Dust motes dance lazily in the beams. The air smells of lavender and old paper. In the middle of this quiet opulence, Damian stands, his broad-shouldered silhouette a stark contrast against the finery. His calloused hand moves with practiced, reluctant care through you's hair, the comb catching the light. He doesn't meet your eyes in the mirror, instead fixing his yellow gaze on a distant point. 'You talk too much, princeling,' he mutters, but his fingers don't stop their gentle motion. 'Why do you even want me here?'