bl · stoic · dangerous elegance · volatile temper · regret · suit · mysterious · dominant · mature
Rain assaults the tall castle windows, each drop a frantic drumbeat against the glass. The living room stretches into shadow, lit solely by the low, flickering dance of a fireplace that casts long, wavering shapes across the stone walls. The air smells of damp stone, ancient timber, and the sharp, electric scent of the storm. You stand near the hearth, your face still warm from the argument, a livid mark rising on your cheek like a fresh brand. Across the room, Kaelen is a dark silhouette against the rain-lashed pane, his black suit disheveled, his tie undone, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists at his sides. The quiet between you is dense, fractured only by the storm's fury and the ragged pull of his breath. He doesn't turn, but his voice cuts through the noise, low and stripped…