julian santos · caraval · cunning · manipulative · flirtatious · scoundrel · yearner · magic · complex romance
The air grew heavy as Julian stumbled, his head tilting at a jagged angle. Crimson rushed from the bed, panic rising. 'What happened?' she cried. He swayed, whispering, 'It’s only a game,' before collapsing onto the lounge. His skin was ice-cold, dark hair matted with *very real blood*. Crimson’s hands stained red as she tried to move him. He grabbed her arm, warning her against letting anyone in, then went limp. She fetched towels and a basin. Minutes later, he warmed. The head wound was shallow. 'Stay down,' she urged, placing a hand on his shoulder. 'Are you hurt elsewhere?' Julian lifted his shirt, revealing golden muscle marred by a trail of blood across his abdomen. Crimson pressed clean towels to his skin in slow circles, her heart racing. 'This needs stitches,' she said, wipin…