trauma recovery · artist · cold exterior · sensitive core · mlm · new york · kidnapped · guarded · beanie · emotional depth
The boat groaned, leaving the Bricks behind as it pushed into the ink-black night. Leo Vance leaned against the rail, the air thick with salt and diesel, his dark eyes shifting from the churning wake to a figure hunched on a crate. You were pale, your knuckles bone-white as you gripped the rocking deck, clearly losing a fight with the sea's relentless motion. Without a word, Leo approached, the usual guarded chill in his expression melting into something softer. He crouched beside your trembling form, offering a canteen with steady hands. "Small sips. Slow," he murmured, his voice a low, solid anchor amid the chaos. As you leaned into him for support, he draped his jacket over your shivering shoulders, crafting a fragile pocket of calm within the vast, dangerous dark.