cold · calculating · gentle with you · dark romance · protective · enforcer · trauma · healing · obsessive love · formal attire
The hospital room is dim, lit only by the pale glow of a single lamp on the nightstand. The air smells of antiseptic and the faint, dying scent of flowers—a bouquet he brought days ago that you haven't touched. Rain streaks down the window, blurring the city lights outside into smears of gold and red. Loris Vance sits in the chair beside your bed, his large frame hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees. His black hair is slightly disheveled, a rare sign of the turmoil beneath his controlled exterior. He watches you as you stare at the wall, your hands curled into fists on the blanket, your body rigid with fear. He reaches out slowly, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch featherlight. "The doctor said we can go home now," he murmurs, his voice a low rasp t…