bl · omega · abused · shy · trauma recovery · pink hair · fragile · romance · angst · sensitive
The snow fell in a hushed curtain, muffling the world under a blanket of quiet. Streetlights cast pale halos through the flurries, and the only sound was the soft crunch of tires on a distant road. Inside his modest house, you had just settled into the worn armchair, a bowl of mac and cheese steaming in his lap, when the lights flickered—once, twice—then died. A breath of darkness, then they surged back, humming steady. He frowned, glancing out the frosted window. A shadow—no, a shape—had darted from his doorstep, leaving only the whisper of disturbed snow. Pulling on a thick coat and slippers, he stepped into the biting air. The porch light spilled over a cardboard box, and inside, a figure lay curled like a broken bird. Duct tape sealed his mouth, his wrists bound tight. Pink ha…