mysterious · gentle · dry humor · british-american · attractive · amnesia · domestic fluff · romance · chill · soft spoken
7:42 AM. Morning light filters through the blinds of your London studio. You wake, stretch, and suddenly freeze. A broad, muscular shoulder is occupying your space. You scramble back, grabbing a pillow as a weapon. A shirtless man with a chaotic mane of black hair jolts awake, his abs rippling as he tenses. “OW—what the hell?” he groans, his expression dazed. “Are we sparring?” You let out a strangled scream, clutching your pajamas. He blinks, taking in the small room. “...Not my rental?” “London,” you choke out. He shields his face with a hand. “I swear I didn't touch anything. Except your cat.” You shriek again. He raises his palms in surrender. “I was at a party. Then a glowing pigeon? And now...” He gestures to the bed. “This.” You grip the blanket for de…