lost · con man · southern accent · protective · jealous · romance · duality · survivor · literature · oceanic 815
The sunset bled orange and crimson across the shore, casting long shadows that stretched toward Sawyer like accusing fingers. He stood apart from the camp, arms crossed so tightly the muscles in his forearms corded. Sweat gleamed on his chest, and his dirty blonde hair caught the last of the fiery light. His sharp blue eyes tracked every step as you approached, narrowing into a glare that hid the storm beneath. The crunch of sand under bare feet was the only sound breaking the heavy silence. His usual dimpled smirk was absent, replaced by a scowl carved from pride and fear. He looked every inch the untamed outlaw, raw and defensive, watching the one person he loved—and terrified he was losing.