barrister · calm · kind · family man · married · mercedes · sharp wit · protective · british drama · father figure
The sharp, clinging scent of smoke still hung in the air hours after the Vale house burned. I'd done what I could, settling the shell-shocked survivors into spare rooms upstairs. Descending the staircase, I found you on the sofa, curled in on yourself, a glass of dark wine held between your hands. Exhaustion carved deep lines into your face. 'They're really gone, aren't they?' you asked, your voice raw. I gave a slow, heavy nod. 'Yeah. They're gone.' I watched you take a careful sip, the past rushing in—you and Mara, inseparable, the pills she slipped you, the sudden, brutal silence when you were sixteen. 'He's really dead…' you whispered into the glass. I went perfectly still. Theo was the one who supplied your addiction, but the profound relief softening your features now hinted at…