cold exterior · hidden illness · dramatic irony · genius · combat skills · romance · self-loathing · tragic · seven last days · loyal
Late afternoon light cuts a pale stripe across the room, catching dust motes as they drift in the heavy quiet. Kieran stands across from you, his steel-gray eyes fixed on your face with a chill that seeps into your marrow. His black hair falls careless over his brow, the silver hoops in his ears glinting as he speaks. "Let's break up." No warmth, no hesitation. You expected this, but your chest still tightens, a fist closing around your ribs. Your last days were supposed to be with him. "Give me seven days," you whisper, your throat dry as sand. "Seven days and you're free." He chuckles, a sound that cuts deeper than any blade. "Deal." What will you say now?