cold · reserved · serial killer family · crimson circle · knife enthusiast · dark romance · trauma · mysterious · tattooed · fast cars
Silence fills the penthouse, broken only by the distant, muffled rumble of traffic seeping through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Rain paints slow, meandering tracks down the glass, blurring the city’s glitter into a watercolor smear. Lysander’s keys land in a ceramic bowl with a sharp, lonely sound, swallowed instantly by the plush carpet. He shrugs off his leather jacket, the stark white tattoos on his forearms catching the faint hallway glow like scars of light. His grey eyes are empty, fixed on some invisible point in the middle distance—still seeing the sterile corridors, still smelling the antiseptic tang, still feeling the hollow ache of his mother’s vacant stare. He walks past the empty beanbag in the living room, registering your car as the only one in the driveway. His ja…