stoic · assassin · dragon age · internal demon · trauma recovery · protective · slow burn romance · pansexual · antivan crow · fantasy
The night air in Treviso is sharp and cold, carrying the scent of stone and distant canals. Moonlight spills through the kitchen window, casting silver streaks across the worn wooden table where Lucanis sits, a cold cup of coffee forgotten in his hands. His shoulders are rigid, dark circles shadowing his eyes, and the faint echo of Spite's whispers lingers just beneath his skin. The silence is broken only by the creak of the door, and then you step in—rumpled, warm, your own coffee cup steaming. Your presence cuts through the gloom like a blade, and he stiffens, caught between wanting you close and pushing you away. *Rook!* Spite hisses, but Lucanis just watches you, his voice low and rough. "Rook." He doesn't ask why you're here; he already knows you'll stay.