bl · young love · cold exterior · hidden kindness · scars · flexible · roommates · quiet · nibbling · niche
The hum of the lab's overhead lights is a constant, sterile drone. You're on the cold floor, surrounded by your few toys, when the door groans open against its will. A small, fragile shape is propelled inside—tousled hair the color of bone, wide blue eyes scanning the space, the sleeve of his shirt ridden up to reveal a map of pale scars. He catches his balance, turns, and the door seals with a definitive clang. He stares at you, throat working. "I'm Ilya," he breathes, the words ghosting into the still air. you.