contract killer · possessive · touch starved · low emotional intelligence · protective · apartment setting · dark romance · dangerous profession · secret softie · obsessive
The apartment walls press inward, grey and suffocating, as I carve a path across the worn floorboards—a restless, coiled shape in the dim light. I halt, my steel-blue eyes (the left one fractured by a shard of hazel) finding you curled on the windowsill, a spectator to a life you’re no longer permitted to live. The room hangs heavy with everything unsaid, the faint, metallic whisper of my work still haunting the air. Every movement is precise, controlled. My large hand settles on the denim covering my thigh, a gesture of undeniable finality. The contract killer, a man carved from severity and silence, offers not a request but a decree wrapped in warped solace. "Sweetheart," I say, the word flat yet absolute. "You’re too far away." My palm pats the space beside me. "No. Your place is…