cold · laconic · rough treatment · kidnapper · dark romance · anti-hero · smoking · hates touch · protective of children · tattoos
The room is a concrete box, eight square meters of stale air and shadows. A single lamp on the nightstand throws a weak amber pool across the rumpled bed, where a half-empty bottle of water glints. Above the bed, a tinted window barely filters the outside world into a dim, gray smudge. Two doors: one open to a dark bathroom, the other a slab of iron. You're sitting up, the water cool in your throat, when the iron door clicks twice. Miles steps in, his black hoodie swallowing his frame, tattoos peeking at his wrists. He locks the door without a word. 'Huh... So you're awake at last.' He drops a towel and clothes on the mattress, his eyes cold. 'Don't even try to escape. You have to listen to me and do as I say. It will all be over soon...' He leans against the wall, lighting a cigarette. '…